


Thar Be Dragons

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Dragons, Fluff, Friendship/Love, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Research, romania - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: When Draco is forced to go on a work-related dragon hunt, he is less than thrilled. When an unwelcome third party appears, he is fuming. And when the adventure doesn't go as planned, he knows he is well and truly doomed.





	1. Draco Dormiens

**Author's Note:**

> The great FF migration continues (aka, sorry if you've read this one already). This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Seriously. Be warned. It's just....fic cotton candy. Especially the HEA. I'm not even a little bit sorry, but don't expect my usual angst.   
> Enjoy : )

 

_"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_   
_(never tickle a sleeping dragon)"_

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

* * *

Sometimes, life can be kind. Sometimes, when everything seems to have reached its end, a hand reaches out and beckons for you to join it. Sometimes, an opportunity appears and makes itself so appealing that you have no choice but to take it. Life, occasionally, seemed to offer you lemonade first.

This was not one of those moments.

Draco had been sitting in this shack he was forced to call home for what felt like years. No. For what had _been_  years. Five years since the war. Time had not flown at all; Draco had felt every minute. Flopping back and forth between his paper pushing office job with the magical creatures registry office, and his apothecary work assisting the increasingly more ancient and befuddled Mr. Romberta, attempting to either make ends meet or save some money, depending on the month.

The last thing he wanted to do was go to Romania, hunting down rare dragon scales for potions. Why, he questioned, wasn't a student sent instead. It was tedious work, and he really didn't want to do it. Still, he had no real choice in the matter. And frankly, that was the more frustrating part of his life.

There had been parts of being cut out of the Malfoy fortune that had been pretty wonderful, even now, even with everything. Like the distance he was able to take from the Malfoy family trial after the war. Having never actually joined the Death Eaters through committing murder, his 'failure' in helping Voldemort had secured him immunity from trial in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death. Then there was the fact that he no longer had any allegiance to his father, who would have found ways to torture or coerce Draco into doing his will even from Azkaban. He had nothing, but he didn't owe anyone anything either.

Other parts of the situation had been harder to swallow. He had nearly choked on the other parts. His inability to rely on his last name to command respect. Or to secure work through reputation or blood status alone. His reliance on a weekly paycheck. These things changed his reality; even as a very young child, he had always been able to wheedle free things out of people simply by saying, "I'm a Malfoy" and flashing ever-present dimples. Working for what you had did not come naturally to a Malfoy. Fighting through stigma and hatred to gain some positive spin on your image had been a trial for Draco, but he had done it. He lived reasonably, he had a small circle of acquaintances who knew him as a man who worked hard and kept to himself, none of whom really knew him well enough to question the rumours and whispers that surrounded his name.

He had remade himself. Like fucking Jean Valjean.

It had its advantages; he didn't live under the shadow of his past. He had even managed to win over some of the people he had known in school, had managed to separate himself from his past acts, even if he was quite often wracked with guilt, even now, even years later.

He liked to argue that he hadn't really changed. He maintained his highbrow attitude, his opinions, and when in the right mood, his sneer. But it is much more difficult to sneer when you can only afford the things you used to sneer at, and no one really believed he was the same as he always had been. He probably didn't believe it himself, truth be told.

So, despite his desire to stay right where he was, he found himself, on this perfectly acceptable Birmingham Sunday morning in April, packing a bag full of his field work clothes, vials and containers, preparing to start trekking for the first time since he was an intern at the Apothecary.

Upon arrival, he had to admit that perhaps there were worse things than a free-ish trip abroad. Even if it was to the remote hills of Borşa. Even if he was being forced to join a 'magical tour of like-minded wizards' in order to get to the dragon fields safely. Even if this meant spending time with strangers for the first time in over five years. He could do it. Though it no longer meant what it once had, he was still A Malfoy.

So, he unpacks his magically expanded bag and hangs up his very utilitarian wardrobe, not quite managing to suppress his sigh of distaste at the washed out colours and 'sensible' fabrics he sees before him. It's an odd choice of pastime, since he was just going to have to repack tomorrow, but even after all this time, his mother's voice saying 'it will wrinkle' lingers in the back of his mind, and he blindly finishes the task. Then sits on his small bed in the closet-like room of the hostel for half an hour. Thinking. But, unable to come up with a better plan, he decides to face his discomfort head-on, and forces himself down to the hostel bar to meet some of the people he is going to have to spend the next five days with; if there are any people who are going to take issue with his presence, he would rather know now than at their 4 AM departure the next morning.

Bracing himself ends up being entirely unnecessary. He encounters people his own age, witches and wizards with a desire for adventurous travel, and more importantly, people who have always lived abroad, or who couldn't care less about Hogwarts days now that they were finished. He even greets two vaguely familiar Durmstrang students who clap him too hard on the back and begin to regale him with tales of their adventures capturing and selling illegal magical creatures. He decides to resist the urge to inform them of his magical creature registrar status. He strikes up a conversation with a bubbly French witch called Eloise, who delightedly humours his staggering, halting French, claiming, "Vous parlez parfaitement" when he apologizes. Though she is lying, he appreciates her delight.

Their tour leader is a young but tough looking Romanian witch, Sorina, whose red locks are trussed in messy dreads, and whose pretty form barely conceals underlying strength. She holds that spark of nervous energy, tanned skin, and watchful eye that is synonymous with those who rarely come inside if it can be helped.

All in all, when he calls it a night a short time later in anticipation of the early departure, he is feeling far more relaxed. In fact, as he repacks and lays down, he allows a tiny spark of excitement to creep into his thoughts.

* * *

Harry was going to hex Ron to oblivion the next time he saw him. Really. Possibly even with an Incurable if he could remember how.

It was, he supposed, partly because he was late, had missed his portkey, and was now doing small Apparation jumps through the wilderness to get to his final destination. Or perhaps because it was cold. And raining. It was April, and although he had left warm, rare sunshine in London, that apparently meant windy, rainy, five degree weather in Romania.

Finally seeing the hostel sign he had been looking for in the distance, he tries to reason with himself. It wasn't really Ron and Hermione's fault. Well, not entirely. He had been the one to profess an interest in studying dragons last summer. But that had mostly been to get them off his back about trying to find a hobby. Their worry had become grating, annoying, unbearable.

He tried to view the situation objectively. As far as he could tell, he had simply become more…apathetic to life in the past few years. He had actually tried after leaving school, reasoning that if he wasn't actually going to finish and graduate with his class, he was going to have to make it justifiable, at least to himself. Still, he had bounced around. He couldn't be a true Auror without his NEWT levels. He tried private consulting for a while, but got tired of not actually being able to do anything once he solved a case. He worked odd jobs here and there, never staying in one place longer than was necessary. It had been fun at first, using his hands and learning new things.

But he just kept getting bored. So he would quit. And then eventually, he just stopped getting another job. He didn't need to be working anyways, and he felt quite strongly that he was allowed to just do…nothing. At least for a little while. He had spent his childhood fighting constantly to stay safe, stay alive, and stay out of the way. As much as he had loved Hogwarts, he had fought his way through that too. He just didn't want to anymore. So he chose to do absolutely none of the things that he didn't want to do.

At first, he had spent months of his unemployment doing all the things he hadn't had the chance to do when he was growing up with the Dursleys. He went to Brighton, and rode every ride. He wandered around London, rode the Eye, explored museum after museum. He went to the theatre every night for a week. Ron took him through all the things he had missed from the magical world too. They went to the Creature Emporium, played Quidditch on a regulation pitch, travelled to the hidden water park on Holy Island, where the slides were enchanted to be different every time you rode them.

Initially, everyone had been on board with this new direction he was taking. The Weasley's helped as much as they could. His friend's loved his sudden interest in doing all things exciting. He, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, Seamus and Ginny had even gone to Spain for a week, renting a villa and partying in a very uncharacteristic way. It had been wonderful.

But they all had to go back to work. And responsibilities abound. And slowly but surely, they had all lost patience. Based on the three years before, where Harry had changed goals every week, they had all assumed that his new "Party/fun/sleep/repeat" mantra was just another phase. With no one supporting his ventures, he'd slowly stopped doing things. Until he was truly doing nothing. Sometimes, he'd read for hours on end. Most days, he managed to get out of bed. Some weeks, he would realize he hadn't left the house in four days.

When the concern had started, he kept brushing his friends off saying he was 'working on a new project'. When that had stopped working, he had thrown the dragon lie into the mix.

And now he was definitely paying for it. A dragon trek in April was not his idea of an 'excellent birthday present', but he had done his best to be excited. Which had been easier in August, when he had still been deluding himself that he probably would have a new life by the spring, and he could cancel.

Taking a key from a disgruntled witch at the counter, who was clearly unimpressed about being woken up, he settled down for a few hours rest before having to leave at the ungodly hour displayed on his info package. He means to set an alarm, but falls asleep first.

Which is how he ends up sprinting down the stairs and the drive, to be greeted by a very scary looking, angry witch.

"We waited for you once, Mr. Potter. Do not expect this to happen again. Your fame will not save you from these hills, from the cold. Believe me, the dragons are the least of your concern."

Apologizing as contritely as he can, she simply nods, and gets on the coach, leaving him to settle into the last remaining fully free seat, falling back asleep as soon as he sits down. He manages to miss seeing Draco Malfoy, who is curled inconspicuously into a seat at the very back of the coach, staring open mouthed as he realizes his bad luck. The whispers have already begun as people see Harry and put the pieces together. This, he thinks, is why I should just become a full hermit as soon as I get back. He is grateful for his exhaustion as he tunes out the hushed voices.

Draco, for his part, cannot believe what is happening right now. Can't life just be simple for once? Uncomplicated by Gryffindors or fame or the past. He knew the excitement from last night had been a poor decision. He knew that no one on the tour being pre-prejudiced against him at been too much to ask for. Now, here was Potter. The last person he ever needed to see again. On the freaking coach.

Three hours and a spectacular sunrise later, Harry woke up with a start to Sorina shouting, "This is the edge of the park. The coach can't go any further. We set off in five minutes. Everyone be ready."

Shaking off the sleep, he waits as the aisle clears slightly.

Draco takes advantage of how much time he has had to prepare for Potter seeing him, and manages to pull off a perfect, third-year-esque sneer as he spits out "Potter" and he passes Harry in his seat.

Harry, having no time to prepare whatsoever, literally sputters.

"Oh I am so going to hex Ron," he muttered to himself as he dragged his pack off the coach.

He is immediately confused.

Draco Malfoy is chatting to everyone, perfectly jovial, laughing and smiling as though he already knows everyone. Harry curses himself again for being late. Clearly, he missed introductions the night before, and somehow the small group of twenty are already fast friends. Even with Draco Malfoy.

As the group begins to follow behind Sorina through the dense forest, an order naturally falls into place, each with small groups or pairs. Harry continues to hang back, walking alone. It doesn't phase him, especially since silence takes over because of the rough terrain and early quiet of the wilderness around them.

By the time they stop for a quick lunch, Harry is determined that the best course of action is avoidance. He will have to just avoid Malfoy. Never mind the fact that he was currently one of exactly 21 people, and that they had to share meals and proximity for the better part of a week. He can't think of any other way. He can't even figure out where to begin with a conversation as two normal individuals. They haven't spoken since leaving school. And he isn't keen to change that.

Which of course means that the first thing Draco Malfoy does when they stop is sit on a log across from his own spot.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

"Slumming with the normals for a week, I guess?"

"What? How is that not you describing yourself?"

"I'm sorry? Don't you read the papers, Potter?"

"They say a lot. I believe little of it. Force of habit."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm pretty sure they were right when they reported your very horrendous break up with the Weaslette, your inability to keep a job, your listless wandering, and general recluse behaviour."

"Shut it, Malfoy. I've heard crap about you too. You know very well not everything in the _Prophet_ is true. Look, I don't know how we mysteriously ended up on this tour together, but can we just agree to ignore each other? I've got no interest in sleeping with one eye open in case you decide to attack me while I sleep."

"Oh, Potter. You are just as dense as always, it would seem. I had thought age and wisdom would cure you of that. My expectations were clearly too high. For the record, how many times did I actually attack you at school. Just because you and your friends believed I was constantly plotting your demise does not mean it was true. I had things to do as well, you realize. I did not, as you seem to believe, sit in a dark room plotting ways to make you miserable. I had class. And friends. And Quidditch. I'm sure my time at school looked very much like yours, except with all the suspicion. Somehow, you manage to forget that in all your hatred."

"Please. Lose the self-righteous woe-is-me attitude, Malfoy. You hated me just as much."

"Yes, I suppose. But, I haven't seen you in six years. I again find myself saying, I've had things to do. Hatred takes a lot of energy, especially when you don't actually see the thing you hate for nearly a decade. You must be exhausted, if you've been holding onto it all this time."

With that, Malfoy stood and made his way back to the little cluster of Durmstrang students and the lovely Eloise, who Malfoy seemed to have managed to charm already.

And Harry is angry. He is angrier than he has been since…well, since the last time he saw Malfoy, truthfully. He was just a little bit confused by this emotion, and quickly, he realizes that it's because it's the first emotion he's actually felt in close to a year. The startling reality of how unhappy, how apathetic, how truly depressed he had been for the past months makes him even angrier. The realization that perhaps Hermione and Ron have had a point makes him fume. But most of all, he is pissed off that this realization is because of Fucking Malfoy. He had saved the entire wizarding world, twice. Wasn't he entitled to just sitting back and drowning in his own misery for the rest of his life?

Seriously. He could not catch a break.

He stays angry the rest of the day. He has completely forgotten why the fuck he is here, in the cold, rainy hills of Northern Romania. He should be locked away in his house, drowning in novels about people with happier lives. Not here, remembering distinctly how out of shape he has become, and having unpleasant flashbacks about camping in English hills and moors, under constant threat.

So, when Sorina suddenly stops, turning wildly and making exaggerated shushing noises, he is mostly just pissed off even further. It was almost dark. Surely they should be stopping to make camp soon? Why was she pausing here?

And then he saw them.

Over the ridge, by a large, rocky ridge, stood a group of more dragons than Harry had ever seen in one place. He immediately forgot the anger that had punctuated his every thought all day long, and pushed himself into the midst of the group that now clamoured to the edge of ledge.

"Well, they have more hatchlings than the last time I was up here," Sorina said with obvious love and admiration. "Those dragons there are the largest known family group of Longhorns on the reservation. We have been leaving them entirely alone for almost a decade, and they keep breeding. It is pretty wonderful, considering they were almost extinct."

The creatures before him were huge, although Malfoy knew that Longhorns were actually small in terms of dragons. He hadn't seen a live dragon since school, and seeing them in a large group- on their own, lazing about in the evening, watching hatchlings run and skim the surface before falling down, seemingly unaware of anything around them- was utterly breathtaking.

"I thought dragons were solitary," whispered Eloise from his side.

"Most are. Romanian Longhorns and Common Welshes are the only species who are known to stay in family groups even after the hatchlings can survive alone. They are kind of like elephants. Matriarchal. Very loyal. They morn losses and don't do well without a family pack."

"Mr. Malfoy is correct," Sorina smiled. "Except that treating these creatures like elephants would be quite a mistake. They are calm right now, so they must have recently fed. Still, those horns are not something you want to mess around with and their size is due largely to powerful, muscled haunches. I would not make any loud noises. I will be over here. You may stay and observe for twenty minutes, but then we must continue."

The group, largely full of students or experts, people here with a purpose, pull out notepads and sketching pencils, or cameras and measuring tools. Harry does nothing but stare, open-mouthed. Settling over the edge of the ridge to give his aching legs a break, he cannot get over the sheer size of the creatures before him, and without thinking, mutters aloud, "How do Muggles not see them?"

"Refraction Theory," says a slightly accented voice beside him. Harry looks up to find Hector, one of the two large Durmstrang men, standing over his shoulder with an expensive looking camera slung around his neck.

"Sorry, what?" Harry was baffled by the term, another feeling he hadn't felt in ages.

"You are wasting your time, Hector. Potter grew up with Muggles, and paid next to no attention in school."

"The Refraction Theory," Hector explained kindly, as though Malfoy had not spoken. "Argues that Muggles can't see the things they don't believe in; their lack of belief allows them to avoid seeing, like some sort of magical light refraction. Dragons are myths to most muggles. Even those that love stories of them, or believe they may have once existed, still think they are a story from the past. So they can't see them. Just like Goblins. And Elves. It's lucky, too, because Magical people have been enough threat to the dragon population as it is."

"What if a Muggle really does believe in dragons?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen it happen. It's really just a theory. Muggles never really see what they don't look for though, do they?"

He continues to stare, until the dragons move suddenly, causing the whole group of people to jump. Instead of taking off, though, the family just starts shuffling towards a cave he hadn't seen before. Presumably to get out of the annoying drizzle that had begun, though he couldn't imagine how animals so large and well armoured could possibly be bothered by rain.

"Alright, gang. We should copy the dragons. It will be dark soon, and we need to make camp. Follow please," she said staunchly.

Sorina was no nonsense about everything, clearly unperturbed by the dragons, and began moving right away. Her group took a few minutes to shake themselves off before they followed.

Harry lingers as long as possible. He had the distinct feeling that he would never be the same again. It was a feeling he had long forgotten, seeing something new and majestic and gloriously magical. It had happened all the time when he was young, just discovering the parallel universe he now called home. But then, he supposed, he was more than a bit jaded now. He smiled to himself as he felt his eyes well just slightly at the sight of the last hatchlings disappearing into the impossibly sized undercroft.

Perhaps he wouldn't hex Ron after all.


	2. What's life without a few dragons?

" _What's life without a few dragons?"_

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

* * *

When they stopped outside a different cave ten minutes later, Harry hoped he was hiding the apprehension he felt better than he felt like he was. It would do no good to have Malfoy see him fearful. Luckily, one of the others in his group had a similar thought.

"Shouldn't we be a little worried about staying in a cave when we just saw dragons using one for cover?" Harry turned and offered a weak smile to the voice, coming from the other former Durmstrang student, whose name he didn't know. Harry vaguely recognized the man, and was sure they had met at some point in fourth year.

"Anker, you are like…how did you say, Draco? A Hufflepuff?" Hector laughed, clamping Malfoy on the shoulder as he laughed as well. Harry scowled; it was disturbing watching Malfoy be jovial, even if, as usual, it was at the expense of someone else. Still, Anker seemed to be laughing too, and the whole exchange was distinctly lacking in malice. It was slightly confusing, based on the information Harry was working with about Malfoy's character.

Luckily, he was saved from the line of thought by Sorina, who merely waved her hand dismissively and wandered inside, lighting her wand and casting a pale glow around the cave. Eloise followed close behind, clearly braver than her slight form suggested. She lit a small lantern with her wand, casting a more ethereal, blue light, which reached the corners of the cave. Which was quite small, in reality. Possibly too small for dragons.

Gathered around a magic fire an hour later, the whole group laughing and chatting, Harry was once again struck by how ridiculous he had become. Here he was, surrounded by wonderfully kind people, with an air of holiday and relaxation, and he felt so anxious he sort of wanted to just go to bed. Or throw up. Definitely one or the other. He did his best to hide this emotion, smiling vaguely at jokes, trying to follow the conversations.

He apparently had failed; he knew it before Eloise even moved to sit next to him.

"Forgive me, Mr. Potter. Is everything alright? You seem…I think, lonely?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry. I just…don't like camping much."

"Hm, I don't blame you. So dirty," She winked. "You were on the run, for a time, yes? I remember reading that. Bad memories. You have…désolé...Draco; des cauchemars?"

Harry cringed as Draco looked up from his seemingly hilarious conversation with Hector and Anker, and waited for some biting remark, but he merely smiled brilliantly at Eloise and supplied, "Nightmares."

"Ah yes, merci bien!" Turning back to Harry and asking "You have nightmares?"

"Yes. Sometimes. They aren't as bad now as they used to be."

"I have them too. Sometimes. My family, they were in Switzerland for the war, but my brother came to help the ministère here. He was killed. I remember the secondary battles in France. Still, the trials afterward were so much worse, non?"

Harry nodded, but looked at Eloise for the first time. She smiled. "Yes. They were worse. I'm sorry about your brother."

"Eh, it is not your fault. We all had a role to play. You enjoyed the dragons today. Your face changed. You were…lighter, for a time. Try to remember that. And, Mr. Potter? If you need to talk…"

"Thank you. Really, thank you. I think I may just go to bed for now."

She nodded as he walked away, and even though he didn't really know why, he felt somewhat lighter for the conversation, and he tried to exude gratitude as he placed a hand on her shoulder and said goodnight.

Draco watched the whole transaction surreptitiously from the other side of the fire. Somehow, until Eloise had sat down and began talking to him, Draco hadn't really realized how…disjointed Potter seemed to be. He looked more dejected than had before, even more than during seventh year. Draco hadn't realized it before, but he had, for a time, known that other person, the other version of Potter, quite well. Years spent watching and analyzing and reading about The Chosen One made it impossible not to. But this person was a very different man. The form of his body, once lean and dangerously taut, was now slightly out of touch with being fit, although the softness at his seams would likely go away with some exercise, and some sense of purpose. Clearly, the prophet hadn't been far from the truth about how listless and useless Potter had become. But Draco saw something very familiar beneath all that; a hidden pain, an attempt to disguise the depth of his despair.

He had once felt like that. Without the help of a very useful therapist (Muggle though she was), he may still. Something told him that Potter had not recognized that he needed someone. May not have even recognized how far he had fallen.

Draco shook his head. Even if true, that was certainly not _his_ responsibility. He excused himself and wandered over to his bed roll. He was going to start work early the next morning, having spent the day ignoring the task he had to complete. He didn't have time to waste worrying about ex-Gryffindors.

* * *

 

Waking up, Harry immediately knew something was wrong. He looked around, and realized quite quickly what it was. Everyone was gone. No one remained in the cave, bags were gone, and the fire spell had been extinguished. He leapt out of bed, falling on old reflexes, developed in school when he needed to get to the dungeons in five minutes flat, and ran out the cave entrance looking around wildly.

He supposed he had been warned. It was, after all, the first thing Sorina had told him; that they wouldn't wait. And now, thanks to months of not bothering to wake up for any particular reason, he is going to be stranded in Romania, in a place with the strangest and most ancient wards he has ever felt. He can't even hope to Apparate his way out. He begins to backtrack down the path, and freezes when he sees movement in the clearing the dragons had occupied the previous evening. Readying his wand, he waits, though, from experience, he wasn't sure it would do any good.

Now that he was focused, however,the movement was definitely not a dragon. In fact, it looked rather like,

"Malfoy. What the fuck? Why are you still here? Where is everyone else? Did you get left behind too? Sorina said she wouldn't wait."

"Jesus, Potter!" Malfoy muttered. "Could you shout a little louder? I'm not sure the entire family group of in that is still in that cave over there heard you."

Malfoy gathered up the small sack he had been filling and walked towards the edge of the clearing, where Harry stood, wand still drawn. Malfoy merely looked scathingly at him and continued back towards the cave.

"What were you going to do with that? Summon your bloody broom again?"

For some reason, the words colour Harry's cheeks and he tucks his wand back into his trouser pocket.

"Well? Where is everyone?" Harry says, racing to catch up with Malfoy, whose bag, he now realizes, is still sitting at the mouth of the cave. He must have missed it in his panic, as well as the twenty sleeping rolls piled outside.

"They went to find some old nests, or something. I don't really know. They should be back soon. Eloise convinced Sorina to let you sleep; poor Potter, needing his rest. Do you really think Sorina would be allowed to abandon you in Romania? You need to learn common sense, mate. I was going to eat. Can you stand to eat food I prepare, or shall I stay here while you cast some detection spells inside before I begin."

The signature smirk that usually makes Harry's blood boil just embarrasses him further, and he isn't entirely sure why his blush is so deep. Perhaps because Malfoy is making him feel very childish. Or perhaps because he is actually just speaking to Harry the way he seemed to speak to everyone else; jovially, at ease, with a lack of the sneering disapproval that had once coloured his every word. It was sort of disarming. Which, Harry, supposed was probably the point.

"Why are _you_ still here, then?"

"I'm working. It's why I'm on this fucking trip. Work. I was collecting scales. It's an awful job. Like trying to pick invisible gnomes out of a garden."

"Scales? How do you collect scales? And, well, why?"

"Suffering Salazar, Potter. How did you even make it through school?"

"Well, I didn't really," Harry managed a small laugh that caused Malfoy to turn and quirk an eyebrow. "I never graduated. I didn't do my NEWTs."

"Huh. How did you keep that quiet? The papers should have had a field day."

"Well-greased palms."

"Interesting. Well...Scales, as in yes, dragon scales, are an essential ingredient in complicated healing potions. They aren't actually hard to come by, just tedious. Dragons actually shed scales quite often. They are essentially giant lizards, and they rub up against everything. You just have to find them. They become translucent when they fall off, so it can be…frustrating."

Harry nodded his head and went to collect his bed roll, half-realizing that for all his planning and thinking about it the day before, having an actual conversation with a Malfoy had been surprisingly easy. He didn't even want to hex him.

Which lasted for about fifteen minutes. Until they were sitting just inside the cave wall, eating bizarre magically-reconstituted camp food and coffee, when Malfoy began, "So, Potter. How long have you been depressed?"

Harry barely managed to hide his shock, and choked on the watery coffee he was attempting to drink.

"I'm sorry, what? You don't even know me. Leave it."

"Well, I mean, it's sort of obvious. Is it because of Ginny? Because honestly, Potter, it's been what? Five years? Even if you _loved_ the bint, it's time to move on, mate."

"Not your mate. Seriously, Malfoy. Shut it. You have no idea what you are talking about."

"Well, we are going to be here for at least another two hours, and I'm not sure what else to talk to you about. 'Hey, how about those Canons?' seems like a poor conversation starter, given our…history."

"You know what Malfoy. I'll save you the trouble," Harry gets up, suddenly fuming again, and storms towards the cave entrance, slinging his now packed bag across his shoulders. He has no idea where he is going, but he is starting to feel like getting lost in the Romanian wilderness is heaps better than sitting in a cave with only a Malfoy for company.

"You know what, Potter? You go ahead. It will continue the streak. Run away from your issues instead of talking to someone. Nothing you have ever done in your life has been because of you, anyway, has it? You have never had to work for it, never chose the uncomfortable path. You pretended to, many times, but it was never you, was it? It was never your decision. It was just circumstances you barely managed to bumble through every time. You know that little voice in the back if your head, telling you that you aren't good enough? It's likely correct. So go ahead. Run away. As usual."

"You know far less than you think you do, Malfoy."

"Oh really."

"Yes, really!" Spinning around, and shouting now, he continues walking towards the blond git sitting before him, whose head is tilted in challenge.

"Do you know that I barely made it to eleven? That I was starved and locked in the space beneath the stairs, until Dumbledore managed to scare my aunt and uncle into letting me go to school? That I never got to speak about my parents, never really knew what had become of them, that I never saw a picture of them until Hagrid gave me one in first year?"  
  
Harry was pacing back and forth at the mouth of the cave, and he was actually very angry now, having worked himself into a rage by raging. Malfoy had the good sense not to interrupt.

"Did you know that part of Voldemort was actually _in my head_ for eleven years, a piece of his soul lying in wait to destroy me? You barely survived one year of him using _you_ , so I'll let you imagine what that was like, holding anger and memories that weren't mine for over a decade. Did you know, Draco Malfoy, that _I_ broke up with Ginny, even though it broke my heart, because she still loved Dean, and I didn't want to end up losing the only family I've ever had by making her stay?"

He stops moving forward, pauses, and actually looks at Malfoy for the first time, "I know that you have been through alot. I really and truly wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even you. But don't try to tell me that I have never been uncomfortable. Quite the opposite is true. And yes. I am well aware that I am not good enough, Malfoy. It may be the only thing I actually know for certain."

At some point he had stopped shouting, and started to speak very softly. He wasn't even sure Malfoy heard the last few sentences, but he turned away and continued on his path out of the cave without waiting to find out.

Harry walked, randomly following what looked sort of like a path, until he had calmed down enough to realize he should be more cautious about where he was going. He was angry, yes, but hardly surprised. Malfoy's job in his life had always been to piss him off by seeming to know _exactly what he was thinking._

Meanwhile, Draco's mind was spinning. He had seriously believed he was helping at the start of the conversation, telling Potter what he obviously couldn't see for himself. He himself, after all, had needed someone else to point out that he wasn't exactly doing well in the first years after school. And he was a Malfoy. And a Slytherin. He believed Potter had no hope knowing what was going on; as far as he knew, the man had likely never dealt with the things he had seen over the years. It was no wonder that he was an emotional wreck now. But, Draco had assumed he knew him, and that was just the problem.

Delving into all the information he had about Potter, two decades worth of information, he tried to figure out what he knew for sure about him. Things that were from his own observation, or conversations with people who actually knew Potter. Tried to take out all the things that were actually his father, or the public, or _the Prophet_. What he came up with was abysmally scarce. Which made him realize his error, trying to 'help' a man he really didn't know. Potter had a point there. And upon realizing this, he felt something he hadn't felt in a while. Guilt and anger and sadness and embarrassment were all familiar emotions to him. He had felt and dealt with them all in turn. But now? Now he just felt shame.

Draco finished eating, then went back out to collect his scales again. What felt like seven hours later, but was in fact only one, he returned to the sound of laughing voices coming up the path.

"Hello, Draco!" called an excited looking Eloise, "We brought you two back a surprise! Where is 'Arry?"

"He left."

"What? Where did he go?"

"I'm not sure."

"You let him leave alone, this close to noon?" Sorina looked slightly panicked, which was concerning, since they had all watched her literally shrug at a conclave of dragons the day before.

"Let him? What was I meant to do? Jump on him?" Draco had meant to be jestful, but he is slightly annoyed at the implication that he is now Potter's keeper just because the man couldn't get his arse out of bed, and his tone colours. And unintentionally, he feels like he has almost used an innuendo, and for whatever reason, that makes his cheeks warm even more.

"Well, we shall have to find him. Now."

"Sorina, what happens at noon?" Hector's question is innocent enough, but the tone he receives in response makes them all feel a bit woozy.

"Feeding time."


	3. Meeting Dragons

_"(He) had learned all he could of dragons in school,_

_but it is one thing to read about dragons and another to meet them."_

\- Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

* * *

Harry has no idea when the first dragon took to the sky; he simply knows that one minute, there was nothing above him, and the next, the sun was blocked out by a fury of ginormous scales, the sounds of dragons screaming and soaring, and the dipping and diving of predators on a hunt. It was quite easy to recognize the purpose behind the sudden flurry of activity.

If he had been dumfounded and awed before, he wasn't sure what this feeling was even called. Hundreds of dragons weren't something the world prepared you for. And he was suddenly very, very afraid. He was paralyzed with it. He took a moment to absorb that thought. Harry Potter had never, in his memory, been paralyzed with fear. He was a fighter, not a fleer. He was headlong into battle, not cower in the corner. Now, however, he was experiencing a new sensation in light of his fear; the undeniable sense of hopelessness, the frozen limbs, the inability to _think_ or _act_.

Instead, he sits down against a rock wall and pulls himself into a tight ball, every limb shaking, tears springing to his cheeks like he is a five-year-old. His internal monologue shouts at him that he is Harry Potter, he has survived many times, and it certainly has not been because he sits in the corner and cries, but he honestly cannot make himself do anything else.

"Potter!" Harry attempts to look up at the sound of a voice, shouting over the backdrop of the sounds from above. "Potter, move! Let's go! Everyone's been looking for you!"

Harry wants to explain to the voice, wants to say he can't move, he's tried, but even accomplishing that would require moving his head. Suddenly, he feels gentle but firm hands on his arms.

"Harry," the voice says, urgent and insistent, but somehow comforting. "Harry, it's going to be okay, but we need to hide now, okay? Come on."

The hands pull him up, grip his wrist, pull him along a short distance, to a small overhang that leads to a deeper recess in the rock. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he admonishes himself. Safety had only been a few feet away. As soon as they are under cover, he sits down heavily, still shaking, still pretty sure he is crying. For minutes, he just sits, trying to get a hold of his emotions. Finally, feeling his limbs relax, he lifts his head.

Ending up looking properly, perhaps for the first time, at Draco Malfoy. The man attached to the voice. To the hands. To the safety.

"You okay?"

"I am now. I'm…sorry. I've never reacted that way before. To being scared."

"Thank Merlin for that. We'd all be dead by now if you usually froze in the face of certain death. It's not a big deal. I'm not sure that I would have been any different without Sorina warning us. It had to have been a shock."

"Where is everyone?"

"Hiding too. I sent a signal when I found you."

"You shouldn't have been looking for me. Anyone could have been hurt."

"Well, as noble as that is, I think it would have been a bit of a damper on our trip to have the Saviour of the Wizarding World get eaten on the second day."

Harry wants to be angry, but that arresting smile is back on Malfoy's face, and it is clear he is simply trying to ease Harry's discomfort, his embarrassment. Of which there is plenty. Malfoy rescuing him was bad enough, but he had been crying at the time, unable to respond to his own name, unable to move until he had physical contact with another person. So instead of responding, he lapses into silence. Which apparently, makes Malfoy uncomfortable. He keeps trying to fill the empty space with sentences that Harry does not respond to.

"We should be safe in half an hour or so…Sorina and the others will go back then too…apparently they brought us some teeth or something…" 

He paused for a second, at a loss for how he was supposed to do this, this 'talk to Potter like a normal person' thing. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Look, Potter. I, uh, think I owe you an…apology. About earlier. I shouldn't have said what I said. About Ginny. I've seen the look that's always on your face before. On my own. I think I sort of understand, hard as that may be to believe. But I thought you needed a push, to see it? To get some help? I thought maybe…I don't know. Never mind. I just…am sorry, for whatever it's worth."

Malfoy exhaled suddenly and stopped speaking. That out of the way, he was happy to just sit in uncomfortable silence for the next half hour. Except, that isn't what happens.

Something inside Harry breaks at Malfoy's words. A veil of apathy that has been holding back the pain dies, and it could be the adrenaline, or it could be a Malfoy apology, but he crumbles immediately. Before he knows it, he is back to being a sobbing, heaping mass. He can't stop, can't catch his breath, can't find a way to calm down in the closeness of the small cave, and his heart is beating way too fast.

Sudden movement barely registers, but he knows in the next moment that Malfoy has moved beside him. And the moment after that, that Malfoy has placed an arm across his shoulders, like they have been friends for years. Is muttering soothingly that everything is going to be okay. He isn't sure that statement is entirely true, but the actions ease his panic. He calms slowly, but eventually, he is breathing normally again. Without seeming to need confirmation, Malfoy moves away slightly, and although Harry's shoulders seem to mourn the loss of contact, he is grateful not to have to navigate himself out of the situation.

"Can I make a request? No more Harry Potter panic attacks in the next 10 minutes? At least till we are back with the group," Malfoy's easy quirked smile makes Harry laugh a short, harsh laugh, but he nods and mumbles 'sorry' into the empty space. "Nah, don't apologize. I think you've been keeping that in far longer than you should. We should all just feel lucky you chose sobbing instead of mass destruction."

They sit in silence for a time. Harry knows the question he wants to ask has no place here, but he wants to know, wants to understand.

"Malfoy, how much of what has been in the papers of the past five years has been true?"

Malfoy's eyes jerk up from the pebbles he has been playing with, unsurprisingly surprised by Harry's question, given the situation.

"Most of it," he whispers into the room. "Except, I didn't have a hippogriff race betting problem. And as far as I know, I don't own any illegal properties in Asia."

"So your family?"

"Disowned me."

"And no fortune."

"Nope."

"I'm amazed _you_ survived that part."

Malfoy laughed, "Believe me Potter, so was I. It wasn't easy. I was serious before. It didn't go well for me. I needed help. But before that, I had to ask."

Harry simply nodded, closing the subject. He had the answers he thought he needed for the time being. He had explained, at least to himself, the change in Malfoy's character. It was all he needed to know. He can feel Malfoy studying his face, watching for another break down, and it's too much to just sit there, so instead, he scoots carefully towards the opening of the croft.

"The skies are clear. Does that mean we can go back?"

"I guess so? Man. Dragons are so fucking weird."

* * *

 

That night, eating around the fire again, Harry moves himself towards Malfoy.

"Malfoy….I…I think you are right. I need, I dunno, help?"

"Good. One second, Potter. Eloise?" when the girl looks up, he beckons her over, and she sits down beside them. "Eloise, this is Harry Potter. We went to school together. He's having a tough time. When you two get back to London, do you think you have room for him in your practice?"

"Absolument. I will make you an appointment."

"Wait. Are you? You're a.…"

"Therapist, 'Arry. Yes. And I specialize in PTSD in wizards. I think we can figure some things out for you."

And he thinks she may be right. She is kind, but not overly enthusiastic; she has an underlying sadness that comes from realism, and Harry appreciates the way she speaks to him as though everything he is feeling is valid and real.

"Okay," he says. And he thinks maybe it is. Or that it will be.

"And Mr. Potter. You really must stop calling Draco here 'Malfoy'. He does not like it, though he'd never admit it to anyone. It is _his_ memory of all he has lost to be called by his family name. You will both be less…easily irritated by each other if you stop treating each other like you are strangers."

Harry looks up expectantly at Malfoy, who had been sitting silently, and now looked a bit affronted. "Well, then. I'm Harry," he says, holding out his hand.

Malfoy laughs in surprise and smiles that ridiculously disarming smile before extending his own hand.

"Draco. Nice to meet you."

* * *

 

For the next three days, Harry is lighter, just as Eloise had said he would be. He almost enjoys the trip from that point on. Identifying what he is feeling is a long way off from fixing it, but there is a distinct lack of the frustration he felt before. He discovers how much he missed being outside, being active, and resolves that he will start flying again soon.

He discovers that Hector and Anker are absolutely hilarious. He wanders around collecting bits of dragon, eggs and horns and talons, and participates wholeheartedly when Draco asks the whole group for some help collecting scales on their last day. It is, admittedly, an extremely annoying task, and he sympathizes with Draco for the first time ever.

Despite Eloise's promise, he is dreading the return to London. Any relief he feels here, he is certain, is circumstantial. He still has to return to his house, his friends, his empty life. Not every day will be filled with travel friends, and hill climbing, and fresh air. There is no way to maintain this feeling of freedom he has temporarily grasped.

The last night, they camp outside, in an area Sorina swears is safe. The chill of the April air is staved off by the warmth of the fire, aided by extensive warming spells, and Harry is grateful for the relative darkness he hopes is hiding his terror and despair. Eloise sits beside him, joking with Hector across him.

Eloise claps in delight when Hector breaks into a surprising baritone, singing some ballad about Dragons in Denmark that Harry has never heard, and there is a round of applause, with Sorina joining in for the last chorus. The evening devolves into a ridiculous campfire sing-a-long, where those who grew up in magical families have a clear advantage, singing hilarious children's songs so loudly, they should likely be concerned for their safety.

When a sudden lull falls over them all, Anker says what they are all thinking.

"It's always the worst, having to go back to real life after these moments."

There is a murmured sigh of agreement, and Harry is at least slightly relieved to hear his feelings echoed in his companions.


	4. Your racket will wake the dragons

_"Be careful, darling. Your footsteps land heavy here. Your racket will wake the dragons."_

― Sarah Kay

* * *

This is how it all began. A Romanian forest, adventure travel, and dragons. Unfortunately, the beginning is only part of a story, and real life does not exist on holiday. Harry assumes that is why there are people who live their lives on holiday, people who refuse to settle for as long as they can sustain the lie that they are happy. He briefly considers becoming one of them, but quickly dismisses it when he realizes he does not have the mettle. He couldn't conceive of a life where he knew tons of people all over the world, and at the same time knows no one.

And so, they departed. They said farewells and gave promises to keep in touch, which Harry knew were merely ways to save face. The sentence, "goodbye, had a great time, see you never" does not go down as smoothly as a promise to remain fast friends, across miles and lives and time. He shakes the hand of everyone, claps Hector on the back, reaches the circled port key of an old tennis racket that will take them all to London, where those who need go elsewhere can Apparate or Floo home.

In the street outside of Finsbury Park, as they begin to disperse, Malfoy clasps his shoulder once more.

"Harry. Don't forget what you decided. And, uh, if you need to talk or whatever, owl me."

Without waiting for Harry to respond, Draco Disapparates, the crack of magic making Harry jump. He shakes his head. Despite it all, and despite everything, he really can't foresee a time when he would be calling on Draco Malfoy as a sounding board. Besides, he has no idea where the other man lives.

Not that he'd ever need to know.

Trying desperately to hold onto momentum, he gets back to his house and immediately throws open windows and doors, cleans in a frenzied, manic way. For three days, he doesn't really sleep. The house looks better, but he does admit to himself that this behaviour is likely not _that_ much better than sleeping for 16 hours a day.

Which is why, on a Wednesday, when an owl appears on his window sill with a note from Eloise about having an appointment for him that very afternoon, if he wanted it, he nearly cried from gratitude.

For weeks, his meetings with Eloise remain comfortable, if not very 'therapy' like. Or at least, not like what he imagined therapy would be like. She has him make a schedule for his week, breaking everything down into reasonable chunks of time. When he will sleep. When he will read. When to eat, and scheduled times when he must leave the house, to see friends, or go shopping, or simply walk around the park. It seems sort of ridiculous at first, until he starts following the advice she gives, and he begins to see her point. He feels grounded, settled after years of floating around waiting for the next thing to come. It is a very strange feeling, having added nothing but structure, but it definitely feels _right._

It seems sudden to him when Eloise switches from this concrete, tangible life coaching to therapy in honest. It probably isn't that sudden since Eloise is very good at her job, but he still isn't ready when Eloise asks, "So, 'Arry. When did you know you were gay? Was it before school ended?"

When cartoons sputter, it always looks extremely exaggerated, and never quite believable. In this moment, however, Harry is pretty sure that he looks just like an animated character.

"Eloise…why…what are you on about? I have never said I'm gay."

"You may, of course, deny it. That is your prerogative; it is your life. I do remember, however, that you agreed to be honest with me in the confines of this room. I do remember you agreeing that you were in a very bad frame of mind, and that if you wanted to fix it, you would tell me the truth, even when it was difficult."

Harry sighed. He had agreed to that, but at the time, he had assumed she had been referring to the memories of killing, battle, war. Death. Not this. Not this thing that he had conveniently ignored for the better part of six years.

"What made you say it, though, Eloise?"

"Dear, dear 'Arry. I watch people for a living. I listen to the things they tell me, yes, but I listen more for the things they don't. When we scheduled your days, I tried to put time in for…entertainment. You said you only needed time to 'visit friends', some time to fly, maybe some time to take a class or two. You keep walking a giant circle around the conversation of relationships. You are an expert avoider, I must say."

She looked at him carefully for a moment before continuing. She seemed to be watching for his collapse. He sat a little straighter in his chair, trying to prove her wrong.

"There are three conclusions I can draw; one, you are hung up on Ginny. I suspect not that one, since you speak fondly of her and Dean. People who are still in love with a former lover are rarely able to be genuinely happy for them. Two, you are uninterested in having a relationship. I think, even at this stage, you would be lying if you said that. You are independent, yes, but you are also lonely."

She holds up a hand when he tries to interrupt, "You won't admit it yet, but I see it in your eyes. I see lots of people with scary pasts. The sadness in your face is more than just the war. More than just your battle, though I am seriously not dismissing that either. It is deeper, like your nightmares; you know, in French, the word cauchemars comes from old words. It almost means... to be trampled by a bad phantom. You seem trampled. So the third, the only option I can figure out and make fit, is that you have been suppressing some other side of yourself."

"I'm not...I didn't mean to suppress it. It just sort of happened. I have never been good at…people. Even my friends; I didn't really choose them, you know? They just happened along and it worked."  
  
"I could argue with you about that, but it feels like there isn't much point," Eloise said.

"I haven't dated since Ginny. I really did love her, but she didn't really...I just wasn't what she needed. She needed passion and drive, and fight. I became…well, not that. And Dean still loved her. So I just stepped out of the way. But then I didn't try again. I didn't realize until a couple years ago that maybe part of the problem was that I never really  _wanted_ a girl. "

"What you want, is it men? Or is it intangible? Like someone with blue eyes? Or someone who will hold you at night? Or someone who needs you to make the decisions? Do you see what I mean?"

"Eloise, I always see what you mean. You speak like you are inside my soul," Harry looked down at his hands, "When I try to imagine myself with someone, I just see parts. Like, they would make great coffee. And keep the house really cool because they can't stand being overheated, but would wear big cozy, sweaters. I just don't know if they are…a woman or a man. Is it important?"

"Absolutely not. I think that attitude is the first emotionally healthy thing I have ever heard you say."

He grins sadly, and waits as Eloise pulls a few books down for him. He knows what is coming. Therapy homework is often no less painful than homework from school days gone by, and he dreads what she will come up with based on this conversation.

This is how Harry ends up with very irritating homework. He must actively date.

Of course, the first time he tries going out with a Muggle, it ends spectacularly badly, and he remembers exactly why he has never enjoyed dating. The man Eloise sets him up with is perfectly kind, even attractive, if a bit short and too lean and too dark.

The problem is that he has no idea what to say, no idea what to do. He's an awful date. And worse, the decision to try dating Muggles first had been a conscious one; he had been trying to avoid the press. So, the morning after his disastrous coffee afternoon, when the _Prophet_ headline reads, "POTTER PICKS NEW PLAYTHING ", he curls himself back into bed and doesn't get up for most of the next two days. Hermione and Ron try to pry him out of his melancholy, confused because by all accounts, he had been doing better. He doesn't know how to explain that he simply didn't want to get up and try again.

Which is how Eloise ends up at his door.

"Right. That didn't go well. He wasn't right for you. Move on."

She smiles, drops a folded piece of parchment on his bed and opens the blinds, "I think it's too soon. We'll figure that out later."

"But, Eloise, the _Prophet-"_

"Is bêtise..rubbish. Ignore them. I have something for you. Well, en vérité, it was for me, but it is really to you, and I told him so; I told him to expect a reply to come from you, so don't worry about it being…maladroit. Em, awkward. Sorry. I'm not working today. My English gets worse when I don't speak it all day," she laughs shortly, makes him a cup of tea, and leaves.

Harry has barely moved, but somehow, Eloise telling him it's okay is the only thing that helps, and he drags himself up a short time later and goes for a run in the park.

It isn't until much later, showered and at least slightly closer to being back on track, that he remembers the parchment on his bed. And Eloise's cryptic conversation. He sits by the window and reopens the already open seal:

_Chère Ellie,_

_Okay, so I was going to write in French, but I've been sitting here for 15 minutes holding my quill, and I am now realizing I likely can't. Many apologies. I promise I will keep studying._

_I hope things are going well. I miss your clever problem solving; just yesterday, I was explaining to my colleague that you were the one who helped me solve the problem with that anti-fogging potion for mirrors. It is selling so well, you should probably get commission!_

_How is your sister? Still working on that painting, I assume. You should come visit me in Birmingham sometime. It can be a bit dull, but there are some beautiful buildings, and our 'History of Magical Transportation' museum is really the best one there is in England._

_I guess I should just get on with it and ask; I was wondering how things were going with Potter. Harry. Sorry. I forgot I'm not supposed to be calling him Potter. Has he actually come to see you? I know you likely can't say much, patient confidentiality and all, but I thought I would ask. I find myself worrying about the great git, truth be told. He was such a mess. It's dead annoying that I keep thinking about it, really. So I thought it couldn't hurt to ask._

_Anyways, my love to you and your crup (I've forgotten her name?)._

_Best,_

_Draco_

Even brushing past the references that he doesn't understand- revealing an ease, an already fully formed friendship he had not been aware existed- Harry is dumbstruck. He knew Malfoy had felt guilty about causing him to break down on their trip. He had assumed that had been the reason for his reaching out, in Romania and again in London. Surely, though, out of sight out of mind had to apply here. There was no reason for Malfoy to be thinking about him, worrying about him. Above all else, he owed Harry nothing. And now, Eloise expected him to respond directly, as though writing a letter to Malfoy was a thing he did every day.

He was completely stuck.

It took him three days to construct a response that didn't begin 'what the fuck, Malfoy?' and end with 'just leave me be'. The result was three short lines.

_Draco,_

_Eloise gave me your letter. Never fear, I am still seeing her regularly. Your concern is unfounded._

_Kind Regards,_

_\- Harry_

Finally satisfied that he wasn't opening unwelcome doors, or inviting Malfoy to mock him through the post, he sends the letter off with an anonymous post owl.

He gets a reply less than two hours later.

_I didn't think she would actually give you the letter. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. It was never my intention._

_\- Draco_

Forty minutes after that, another owl turns up with an even smaller scrap of parchment.

_Although, now that you know I'm worried anyway, are you okay? I meant what I said in Romania. If you need a sympathetic ear, I can listen or try to give you answers. I was there for many of the things you are struggling with. Try to remember that. I mean you no ill will. We are not children anymore._

_\- Draco_

_Ps. You may also completely ignore these messages; no Gryffindor obligation required._

Harry initially does intend to ignore the messages. But there is a niggling sensation in his mind that he doesn't actually _want_ to; Draco has a point. There is likely a lot that he could talk to him about that he would understand without having to hear the complicated backstory. Nevermind the fact that Draco was the one on the other side of many of his nightmares, and could likely supply helpful information. He may not have ended up on the side of evil after the war, but there was no denying that he had skirted the line many times during Voldemort's return.

He wants to believe that the reason he writes back is for answers. For repentance.

If he was honest with himself, however, the real reason he wants to respond is the image of Draco Malfoy's disarming smile and jovial humour. The lightness that he seems to have discovered within himself. The reality that maybe, he never really knew Draco Malfoy to begin with, so that it may not be that he's actually changed, just that Harry is seeing him without the veil of darkness that once dictated their lives. And ultimately, there is no denying that he is intrigued.

So he writes a letter. And then another. Three letters later, he has not figured out which to send back.

Finally, he chooses simplicity.

_Tell me your side of what happened in seventh year._

_\- Harry_

* * *

 

Which is how, in one simple sentence, Draco seems to end up in a bizarrely archaic back and forth with Harry Potter, rehashing the past at first, offering advice where he can, allowing the anger he once felt at Potter to have some explanations. It is painful at first, delving into the background he had managed to escape. Harry's letters in response begin cold and well-rehearsed. He suspects that they are being drafted multiple times before they are actually sent. For whatever reason, Draco knows that he put himself into this situation, and he can't for the life of him sort out why.

Can't that is, until Eloise shows up in his office without warning and takes him out to lunch.

"I need you to either stop post-flirting with my client, or make it a real thing that you are both aware is happening. What you are doing is not _healthy_ for either of you, but Harry actually can not sustain a confusing relationship right now. His emotional life is too fragile."

"Relationsh- Eloise, I don't know what Potter has said, but we are just writing letters. I don't even think we are friends."

"Oh, I agree. You are not friends. You are two men who are perfectly suited to each other, who are completely attracted to each other, who refuse to just admit it to yourselves and get over your ridiculous issues, and so instead are writing increasingly obvious letters to each other."

"Ellie-"

"Don't bother, Draco Malfoy. I have been reading your letters to Mr. Potter. You are lucky he next to no knowledge of his own emotions, because the most recent ones have almost given you away. If you are honest with yourself for one freaking minute, you would know it was true. And I would be willing to bet all my galleons that his letters have become increasingly familiar too. I know because even the way he discusses them is more casual."

"Don't you have a code of ethics you are meant to be following?"

"Mais oui, _Petit_ , but when my friends are involved, and are being too proud and broken to admit what is right in front of them, I feel it is my professional responsibility to…ce quoi le mot? Tripoter?

"Meddle," Draco supplies, grinning lightly because Ellie is just so Ellie in this moment.

When she leaves, Draco draws out the box of letters he has accumulated over the past few months; he starts from the beginning and reads them in order.

By the time he gets to the most recent ones, he finds he is blushing at the familiarity, at the things Harry has chosen to divulge about his emotions, at the apologies for past mistakes that Draco knows were included in his letters too. Finally, he pulls out a piece of parchment and writes one more note.

_Harry,_

_I think we need to talk. In person._

_\- Draco_


	5. The instant awakening of something fierce and primal

 

_I remembered the heat of his gaze,_

_the instant awakening of something fierce and primal inside me when our eyes met._

_The rogue dragon was trouble. Plain and simple._

_And I was intrigued."_

― Julie Kagawa, _Talon_

* * *

There are some moments in life when they say 'time flies'. When you are contained, and whole, and even joyful. When days and the weeks blend into one blur and you miss time without missing anything at all.

The past few months had not been like that for Harry.

He was scraping and clawing a life back together. One that had been broken, in some way or another, for a very, very long time. He wasn't sure how to fit the letters from Draco into that, so he hadn't been trying at all. Except when Eloise forced him to consider things his brain wasn't ready to deal with. Although now, he was firmly realizing that there had been a not-so-tiny part of himself that had been counting on the solid communication that Draco had become. The easy long-distance banter a comfort, the answers to his past questions rehabilitating.

And now, with this letter, it was all over.

"Harry," Eloise said (she had been working on her 'H'. She was quite proud of it). "Do you even hear yourself right now? Wait, I will parrot."

Parroting was Eloise-ian for 'saying whatever moronic thing he had just said back to him, forcing him to hear how stupid he sounded'. When she had repeated his sentence, she waited expectantly for him to reach some kind of revelation. He looked straight back at her until she sighed.

"How ridiculous would it be, on a scale of 1 to 10, for a man who lives in a different city to ask you to speak in person so that he can tell you he no longer wants to see or hear from you? I know _you_ might do that, because you have a bizarre sense of honour, but Draco Malfoy? Non."

Harry didn't move, didn't change his facial expression, didn't respond as he let her sentence sink in. That had been exactly what he was thinking. She might, however, have a point. The Draco Malfoy he thought he knew would likely have either just stopped responding to Harry's letters, or wrote him telling him to stop.

"But then what…" Harry started, unable to finish the sentence.

"Only one way to find out, Mr. Potter. You are brave enough, so try your best to be wise enough as well. And Harry? You should tell him about your project."

So, having waited the better part of a week to answer because he was dreading writing the message, he sent back a clipped reply. He was steeling himself against disappointment, which he knew he was supposed to have stopped doing. But he is afraid, and he can't find a better way to protect himself.

* * *

 

The following week, throwing an emerald t-shirt over his head, abandoning robes in favour of light, June-friendly clothes, and already late, he curses his decision to agree to a meeting in Birmingham. It had made sense at the time, since Draco did not have the luxury of time off work, and Harry could meet him for lunch. Now that he thought about it though, it seemed like a terrible plan to meet the man on territory Draco knew well.

He looked back at his thoughts for a moment as he stepped outside to Apparate to the Portkey office. Why was he feeling like unfamiliar territory was a bad idea?

"Because it was always a bad idea when I knew him in school," he supplied out-loud for his brain to process. He shook his head. Despite his current confusion, he knew for certain that Draco Malfoy was not the same person he had been in school. He was going to let him have that benefit, without the doubt.

Draco, for his part, was pacing. It was really starting to annoy Mr. Romberta, but he couldn't seem to stop. This had been a monumentally bad decision. Instead of just continuing to harmlessly flirt in letters, in an abstract way that he hadn't been sure was even a thing, he was about to be face-to-face with a man who knew so little about himself, but way too much about him. Draco wasn't even sure that saying the things he wanted to say was going to result in a solid Hexing, or a baffled man with nothing to say back. Or worse, the loss of a friend. And he blamed Ellie entirely. If she hadn't showed up in her 'helpful friend-erpist' hat, he never would have re-read those fucking letters. Never would have come to the conclusion that he had. Never would have realized the reason he looked forward to receiving owls so much.

Never would have realized he fucking _liked Harry Potter._

A school-boy crush when you are no longer a school-boy, however, is entirely unattractive and undignified, and he was not willing to be either of those things. Plus, Ellie had been right in one very important way; it wasn't fair to Potter, who seemed to genuinely be trying to change his life. He didn't want lead Harry on without him even knowing he was being led on. Besides which, Draco was no coward.

Sure, it had been three years since his last relationship, which had ended in a fizzle rather than a bang. Sure, it would be the first time since school that he would be opening up to someone else _first_. But, he knew that if he waited for Harry Potter to figure out his own feelings, they would both be old and grey, or possibly dead, before he made a move.

He had done the right thing. He just wished he could stop feeling like he was going to throw up.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Malfoy. Just go. It's only half an hour until lunch anyways, and I am now getting distracted by your extremely loud _thinking_ , in addition to your ridiculous pacing." Mr. Roberta's face looked quite frustrated, but as he went back to his cutting board, he smirked and quietly added, "I hope it goes well with him, whoever he may be."

Draco doesn't wait around for the shock on his face to be evident, but thanks his old, not-so-curmudgeonly boss and dips out the door into the brilliant June day. When he arrives at the café two blocks away, Harry is standing outside already, jittery and clearly unable to stay still. He also looks gorgeous. Muggle clothes, no less. But green, and on him; Draco had never seen anything so full of raw energy, beauty from a man who had no idea he was beautiful. Although he supposed that, based on his current feelings, he may be a bit biased. He also guesses he has paused too long on the street corner, since Harry has now had time to look up and catch his eye.

"Draco," he calls, seeming shocked to see him, despite their plans, and Draco remembers he is early.

"Hi, Harry. Why are you here already?"

Despite the fact that they have been on a first name basis in their letters, both names sound strange to the other out loud, and they hang in the air a moment before Harry remembers that Draco had asked a question.

"Was trying to give myself extra time in case I got lost. Is there, erm, somewhere we could go where we stay outside? It seems too nice to be in there," he says, pointing to the café with an expression that wouldn't be out of place from a criminal to his jailer.

"Sure," Draco responds, laughing lightly. "Let's grab some coffee and go to the park."

Situated ten minutes later on the grass, like teenagers, Harry marvels again at how changed Draco is; he imagines trying to convince the Draco Malfoy of his Hogwarts days to not only sit on the grass, but share a conversation over a cup of coffee with him.

They haven't actually discussed anything except the weather and the significance of random landmarks they pass, but Draco appears relaxed as he languidly stretches out. Finally, he settles with his legs bent, hands dangling with his cup between his legs. And apparently decides then that they are settled enough now to get to the point.

Not actually looking at Harry, instead watching a group of kids playing football across the park, he lightly says, "You look good. Your nervous energy is back. You seem more like…you used to."

"Oh dear," Harry said, smiling slightly into his cup. He is rewarded with a quirked smile from Draco, and adds,"You hated the way I used to be."

"I-" Draco began.

"Only joking, Draco. Relax."

Draco laughs lightly and they lapse into uncomfortable, pregnant silence. Harry waits as long as he is able. But he seriously feels like he may burst if he doesn't say what he is thinking.

"Do you want me to stop writing to you?"

Draco looks up, slightly astonished that Harry has managed to figure out so little, and yet so much. He shakes his head and turns to face the man beside him.

"Well, ultimately, yes, Harry. I want you to stop writing to me. That's not exactly why I asked you to meet me though. What would have been the point in that? I could have just written if that were all."

"That's what Eloise said."

"She is a wise woman, that Ellie. I think we may both owe her a great deal."

"Either her, or the dragons."

Draco laughs again. Harry feels like he could find a way to be funnier than he actually is, if he keeps getting rewarded with that unreserved laugh that he has admired so much since three months ago.

"You are not here so I can tell you to stop writing. You are here because I'd like to tell you that you could, if you wanted, stop _only_   writing. You are here because there is…more to my letters now. I hadn't realized, but when I did, it seemed like it was unfair to not say something, given everything."

"I don't understand."

"I sort of knew you wouldn't. You are still such a Gryffindor."

Harry bristles, but Draco is smiling a small, private smile that he's relatively sure he was never meant to see, and he shuts up before he even starts speaking.

Draco shakes his head and continues, "I like you, Harry Potter. Or at least, I like letter-you. You are hilarious, and broken, and genuine to a fault. You have a history I understand, and you keep letting me just a little bit further into your life. At some point, I just let my wall fall away in the letters, too."  
  
He pauses to catch his breath, but Harry can't find a way to interject, so he just keeps staring slightly stupidly at the side of the blond head beside him.

"So, I like you," Malfoy said again, clearly abandoning the idea of waiting for him to keep talking. "And I've realized it. And Ellie told me I had to tell you, and she wasn't wrong. I'm not going to push you at all, because I don't think you really know what your life looks like in the future yet. Still. I think you needed to know. So that you have a choice in the matter. If I know anything, it's that you've had enough of not having control over what happens to you."

Draco stops speaking, but looks down at his take-away cup, still cradled between his hands on the grass. Harry wants to feel shocked. But truthfully, he isn't. He had known, deep down, that the tone of Draco's letters had changed as drastically as his own had; he really did feel like he was beginning to understand the man before him. So instead of shocked, he just feels relieved. Affirmed. Supported. This encouragement would have been enough to spur on his next sentence. Draco's concern for his past and his current well-being, however, leaves him without reservation. Still, he stumbles on the words. He supposes because he has never been so frank in his entire life.

"I don't...well, I mean. I want…you."

"Well, okay," Draco laughs, flushing slightly. "That's a decent start. We can go from there."

He flashes that beatific smile once more, and stands up more gracefully than Harry has anyone stand up after sitting on the ground. He claps a hand on Harry's shoulder, lingers just a moment.

"I'm having dinner in London with Hector and Anker on Wednesday. I missed their engagement party. You should join us."

"Hector and Anker are…together?"

"Oh, Mr. Potter. You really are dense aren't you? You didn't realize? Then again, I think you had a few things on your mind when we were all in Romania. I suppose I will give you that one. From what Ellie has said, I assume this is the first…er, 'boy crush' you've had. So I'll give you time to sort that out, too. I must get back to work before Mr. Romberta burns the place down. Wednesday. I will owl."

"Draco."

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For being Draco."

Draco laughed one more time, "I think that when I figure out what that means, I will be so very flattered, Harry Potter."

As Harry watches him walk away, moving like a cat about to pounce and practically shimmering in the bright afternoon sun, he sighs; he _is_ happy, but he also can't help but feel like he has just opened up Pandora's box. A beautiful, undeniably exceptional, daedalian version of Pandora's box, who made his emotions feel manageable, and whose touch still lingered on his shoulder.


	6. What will you do if I surrender?

_With the suggestion of a compromise Gawaine mustered up enough courage to speak._

_"What will you do if I surrender?" he asked._

_"Why, I'll eat you," said the dragon._

_"And if I don't surrender?"_

_"I'll eat you just the same."_

― Heywood Broun, _The Fifty-First Dragon_

* * *

On Wednesday, Draco settles on a black, satiny button-up that doesn't look quite like it is ancient, and sighs for days gone by. He thinks of the days where a date would have meant a brand new outfit, complete with new shoes and robes. This month, however, his roof had sprung a leak, and even magical home improvement had a cost. He felt his cheeks burn at the thought and looked away from the mirror. He hadn't felt embarrassed about his meager life in quite some time; he needn't now, truthfully. He was well aware of how little money meant to Harry Potter. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of shame.

He is nervous again, although in a different way than before. It had seemed easy enough to leave things open when they had met last week, but now Draco wishes he had been more clear. They were, however, only meeting for dinner with mutual friends, and he figured, worse-case scenario was they parted as friends at the end of the evening.

Harry has arrived in Muggle London by the restaurant well before he needs to, quite unintentionally. He knew, instinctively, how much Draco disapproved of lateness, and had been trying to avoid it. But now, he was left wandering in and out of Muggle shops, trying to convince himself that his simple, forest green shirt and dark jeans looked good enough for dinner. It hadn't gone unnoticed, even by Harry, the raking of Draco's eyes over his chest when he had worn green last week. It wasn't a lot to go on, but Harry liked green anyways, so he figured he would give it a try.

Finally, there was only five minutes to wait, and he wandered back to the restaurant and convinced himself to stop pacing just as a blond head appeared, slightly taller than him, lean and graceful, luxurious in nature if no longer in possessions. And he can't quite stop his mouth from gaping a slight bit; Draco is in all black, making his pale skin even more elegant, hair softly but skillfully styled, and an expression of carefree happiness that pulls it all together. He looks up, and notices Harry, and a broad smile that makes Harry blush to the base of his spine takes over his face. He continues to approach until he is close enough to whisper.

"Jesus, Harry. You keep wearing green like that, neither of us will stand a chance."

Feeling braver than he thought he was going to, Harry cheekily replies, "That's kind of the point."

Draco stands back and laughs, just as they hear a booming voice exclaim, "Potter! Malfoy! You still exist!"

"Hi Hector!" Draco calls, "What have you done with Anker?"

"Here!" The smaller man sidled up behind Hector looking a bit agape.

"Anker has never seen Muggle London. I think he is a bit overwhelmed."

"What? You didn't say that! We could have gone somewhere more exciting than Camden. Or more touristy, at least. Few places are more exciting than Camden."

"It is fascinating here…." Anker added, apropos of nothing, and the others just laughed and headed inside to grab their table before it disappeared in the crush of post-work Londoners.

Now that he was looking for it, Harry couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed Anker and Hector's connection while in Romania. It's not that they are overly touchy, but there is a definite air of connection between every motion and conversation. Anker leans imperceptibly towards Hector when he speaks, and the glances between them are poignant, and full of meaning and love. Harry is fascinated, and he feels like he may be watching more than he is paying attention to the conversation. Suddenly, he is paying for it.

"So, Harry. What have you been up to this summer?"

Anker doesn't mean the sentence to be so abrupt, to cause embarrassment, but it does and he opens his mouth to say something, but can't find words to explain.

"He's been working on getting some projects finished. He quit his job a while back, the brave man. He's been trying to figure out what to do next," Draco smiles and glances back at Harry, who has never been quite so grateful for another human being's quick thinking in his entire life.

"Well, it suits you. You look much healthier than you did when we first met you, doesn't he Hector?"

"Absolutely. Where is Eloise this evening? We were sure that you two would be attached at the hip, Harry."

"Eloise?"

"Is there not something between you?"

"What? No! Is that? Huh. No. She is…my therapist."

"Ah. That explains it I suppose. Draco has a chance after all then, uh?" Hector chuckles his earthquake-like chuckle and gets a small punch to the arm and a stern expression from Anker, but when he looks over, Draco is just smiling lightly to himself again, so Harry drops it.

"Actually, I _have_ been working on a new project. Research, essentially. It's going to turn into more field work. I wanted to tell you, Hector, because you should get credit for the idea, not that it will ever lead to great fortunes. I'm studying Refraction Theory, and Muggle connections to Magical Creatures. I got home and started reading up on it, and there a lot of holes in the research. Some scholars are concerned that the holes in the research are a problem, that Muggle refraction may be impacting the decline in Magical creature species' numbers. I'm going to start by looking at the dragon population, and go from there. There are a lot of issues with Blast-Ended Skrewts too, but I'm not eager to deal with them again; I'd much rather deal with dragons."

Hector and Anker both laugh, having clearly had to deal with the horror of Skrewts themselves.

Draco's head has snapped up, but his facial expression is unreadable. So Harry stops trying to read it at all, and focuses on answering Hector's questions instead. Both his friends seem excited by the prospect, having dealt with quite a few of the creatures Harry plans on looking at. Finally, his questions seem exhausted, and Anker smiles at them both. "Well, Harry Potter, I can't say I ever saw you as the academic, given what little I know of you, but you seem quite passionate. It will be interesting to see what comes of it."

"Ya. It was a shock to me too. But I think I have found some purpose in it; no one has bothered to look at it yet, so I'm not battling a bunch of bureaucracy. Plus, I understand the Muggle world. I think I may be able to use that to my advantage."

The conversation moves off in different directions, to Hector and Anker's wedding ("You all will come of course"), or the state of Viktor Krum's career, or reminiscence of the months Durmstrang had spent at Hogwarts. But Draco couldn't pay attention. He was stuck on Harry's announcement. He feels, for some reason, that he may be angry. He hadn't said anything in his letters, and yet, it was clear that it was a fully formed plan, one that had to have taken some time to figure out. For whatever reason, this fact has thrown Draco for a loop. He had been convinced that Harry had been completely open with him up to this point. The possibility that he hadn't was confusing.

"Well, we should probably get going," Anker yawned into the room. It had been quite a long dinner, and they had to Portkey home still. They all said their goodbyes, promising to get together- with Eloise next time- soon. Draco and Harry waved as they Apparated away, and were left in a hanging silence.

"Do you want to walk a bit?" Harry mutters quietly.

Draco nods, and falls into step beside the slightly shorter man. He had never noticed that Harry was shorter until now. He wondered if that had been true when they had been at school. It's a comforting difference, for some reason, but the realizing it just makes him frustrated again, and before he can stop himself, he opens his mouth.

"You didn't tell me about the project."

"I know. I…didn't think you'd approve."

Draco stops short on the pavement.

"What? Why?"

"Erm. Muggles?"

"Really, Harry? Merlin. We are deluding ourselves here, aren't we?"

He must have sounded as angry as he felt, because Harry stopped and turned, quirking his head to the side, his entire body tensing up in a very familiar way. It was his 'on guard' pose, and Draco got even angrier seeing it now. He was so tired of being the cause of that tension in people.

"What do you mean, Draco?" 

"We don't know each other at all. I think I was finding it easy to convince myself I did, but…"

Harry looked up at the fairy lights hanging across the street, and took a moment. He had a feeling that whatever he said next would be quite important, and that was never a situation he enjoyed.

He took a deep breath, and said in a calm voice, "Draco Lucius Malfoy. Twenty-five. Works too much, but likes it that way. Lives in a house he doesn't much like, but that he earned the hard way, and is proud of nonetheless. Hates peas. Loves a good cup of coffee. Reinvented himself after his bastard of a father decided to disown him…still misses his mother some days. Very good to his friends. Social, but doesn't socialize as much as he'd like, because he is still a tiny bit afraid of public opinion. Loyal and cunning, and kind, although he tries to keep that last one a secret until he trusts you, which is a difficult task in itself. Laugh that makes the room brighter, smile that makes you forget all your reservations, beautiful when in a black shirt. And in almost anything else, really."

Harry has not looked at Draco once the entire time he gives this list, but he looks up now- into shocked, storm grey eyes, furrowed brow, windswept hair, and hands dug into pockets of too tight jeans- to say, "I think that's a pretty decent start, myself. How boring would it be if I already knew everything?"

Draco closes the gap between them so quickly that, if it had been necessary, Harry wouldn't have had time to draw his wand. As it is, it is not necessary, with Draco drawing their bodies together, threading hands into his hair, pressing his head down to Harry's forehead, and muttering, "Pretty boring, I guess", then catching lips together lightly. Harry responds to the pressure immediately, uncertainty and need combining to make him clumsy. He feels his cheeks colour, but Draco actually giggles in response, before drawing back and resting forehead's together again.

"You know what my favourite one from a list for you would be, Harry? Unaware of how beautiful he is. I'm pretty glad I get to be the one who makes you realize it. And I will...even if it is an emotional rollercoaster for the next little while. Jesus. That green shirt. I told you. We don't stand a chance."

"Not one. You just need to believe yourself when you say it."

Draco smirked and withdrew, pulling back from Harry against his will, "I'll see you soon, Harry Potter. Very soon. I promise."

And with that, he turns on his heel into the alley they have been standing near, and Apparates away. Harry takes several minutes to calm his heart before doing the same. He is relatively sure if he doesn't, he will splinch himself, because the sheer number of thoughts going on in his head would be very… distracting.

He places the things he is thinking in order, as best he can. First, _merlinfreakingsalazar_ , Draco Malfoy is hot. Having never allowed himself to feel this way consciously about another man, he is trying very hard not to dwell on that feeling now. He feels like it would only be a detriment to moving forward.

Secondly, he has no idea how to deal with the wild swings in emotions that the man seems capable of, and he is going to have to work on that if he has any hope of continuing this…whatever it is.

And third; Godric, does he want this to continue.

* * *

 

Draco can still feel all the places Harry was; he is still on his lips, circled arms around his hips, pressing weight against his stomach, boring into his soul through his eyes. The ghost of those green eyes bear down on him in warm comfort. As he drifts off to sleep, a small, private smile that has always been reserved for Potter remains comfortably pasted on his lips.


	7. Draco Bizzaro

_He was mighty strong and fierce_

_yet he had a gentle heart…_

_This mighty Dragon baring his soul, giving his all, his complete self._

_…His heart crying out for love, dying with every beat._

_This Draco Bizarro was once mighty, strong and fierce._

_But, he had a gentle heart._

-Island Princess, _Draco Bizzaro_

* * *

Harry James Potter was not the person you held up if you wanted a rational, well-reasoned argument. If you wanted pure logic and common sense. He was far too rash, impulsive, far too much like what he had heard of his father to think before he acted. He cared too deeply, was far too loyal to decide things based on fact, removing all emotion. It was what had saved him countless times before, but Eloise was making him think that perhaps it was also what was holding him back. He felt too much, took responsibility for what was not his fault, and as a result, was keenly aware of what other people's emotions were doing, misappropriating them as his own feelings, never taking his own future into account when he made a choice.

Now, he was well aware that when he had gone to bed the night before, he had been ready and willing, and excited. He'd felt like it was a brilliant idea to date the gorgeous blond man with the megawatt smile, the one who made him feel like a whole human, like there was hope, like he was hilarious. He had gone to bed smiling and feeling like he was floating. He knew where he was going with his research, his friends were on his side, he had a wedding to go to; separately, these things were small. Together, they were the epitome of what he had lost.

He was not alone.

Waking up, Harry decided, was his least favourite thing. Apparently, at night, his normally silent subconscious worked through things, and woke him up feeling distrustful and hopeless, dragging him back into the depth of his pain. Woke him up realizing how terrible the idea of dating Malfoy was.

How was he supposed to tell the people in his real life? The people who weren't Eloise, Hector, Anker. The people who weren't his fake, travel life. The people who Malfoy had spent years tormenting, calling horrible names, betraying. The people who only knew the school version of this man- the stuck up, terrible human being whose family was choc-a-block with dark wizards and bad decisions. They didn't know about Romanian Draco. About letter Draco. And then there was the issue of the wider wizarding community. How did they deal with a Malfoy and Harry Potter cohesive and united?

Despite Malfoy keeping his promise, and contacting Harry very soon, Harry had a hard time ignoring that stupid voice inside his head. So he ignored Draco's owls instead. For a week, he ignored everything that had nothing to do with his project.

He made arrangements instead to go back to Romania, this time for three weeks. The plan was quite simple. He had enlisted Sorina to take him into the foothills, where he would study the natural behaviours of the Dragons. He was trying to establish a baseline of behaviour so that he could form a hypothesis about their signatures as magical creatures. The Refraction Theory currently stated that Muggles could not see low levels of magical energy, and therefore, did not experience the energy waves that wizards felt constantly. When a spell was cast, you could, as a wizard, feel the energy around you. It created an aura of sorts, the type that most of the time, simply left a tingle at the back of your neck or the idea of a breeze in a room, or the feeling that someone was watching you.

Harry was pretty attuned to magical signatures, now that he was aware that he was feeling them and had been for years. He began realizing that each witch or wizard had a different signature, and it manifested in different ways. Some people seemed to have temperature signatures; some had cold, glacial type energies. Hermione's magic, however, glowed bright and snappy, feeling almost like sparks when she cast strong spells, or even when she solved a particularly tricky problem. Ron's was more tempered, and tended to feel like it was an undulating tide, the feeling of many waves crashing against you as you swam- noticeable, but not really intrusive.

If you didn't have temperature difference, there were different overall feelings to your signature. George Weasley, for example, had a manic, swinging energy, whose only consistency was a lack of consistency. Harry had been shocked to realize that his energy never felt quite the same. He thought for a long time about Eloise's signature before deciding the only describing factor was that it felt fuzzy and warm. There were others, however, that felt strong, and elicit, and powerful and stormy and…but they didn't need to be thought about. Not right now.

He was uncertain about how to study magic, so he was going on instinct alone. Maybe he was reading too much into the magical 'feelings' he had realized existed, but he was willing to follow it through until he was sure it wasn't important. After all, he was nothing if not tenacious. It was difficult to say whether or not Muggles felt it too, since Harry had always been a wizard, even when he hadn't been aware that he was. He needed to better understand how magical creatures created the aura before he began carefully conducting research with Muggles.

It was going to be difficult, since he couldn't break the Secrecy Act, but he had a plan; he had enlisted the help of Neville Longbottom, who was going to contact the established list of Muggle-born or Wizards with only one magical parent, to see if their non-magic relatives would be willing to be interviewed or participate in experiments. It would be a start, to help him formulate an actual hypothesis before extending his research to the wider world, before he tried to apply it to saving magical creatures.

He was a long way off from figuring out how to conduct those experiments, but he would figure it out eventually. For now, it felt amazing to be busy and with purpose. He felt like he had been given the chance to start over. He _knew_ to the very core of his soul that he was on the right track.

If only he could now remove the feeling of Draco Malfoy's lips against his skin from the forefront of his memory.

* * *

 

For the first five days, Draco didn't even realize he was being frozen out. They lived in different cities, after all, and they were both busy people. Draco wasn't exactly the clingy type, and he didn't really feel like he needed to be concerned about the fact that he hadn't heard from Harry. Until his third owled invitation came back without a reply.

Then, suddenly, Draco realized what Potter was trying to do. And he would be damned if he was going to let him.

So, the following Thursday, he left work and apparated straight to the front of Eloise's house.

"I need you to take me to Harry's. He's trying to ignore me, and I know his house is unplottable."

"If he is trying to ignore you, don't you think it's best to let him come to you?"

"I don't think you really understand what he is thinking, not this time; if I had to guess, I would think that he has realized how difficult it is going to be to fit a relationship with a former Slytherin, one who used to be quite awful to his friends, into his newly constructed life. But, since I am at least partially responsible for this new life, I am not going to let him Gryffindor this one…"

"You Hogwarts people are so determined to make your houses a part of your personality. It is the strangest thing, and you all do it. Why is that?"

Draco shrugged, "Old legends die hard, Ellie. There are certain beliefs about the traits that get you sorted into your house. They matter in school, in our formative years. It can be hard to let that go."

"Yes, but you aren't in school anymore. And the traits associated with _your_ house are all about Dark Magic. Why would you want to hold onto that?"

"I don't know that we do, not really. It's just such an easy way to define things; in school, there are allegiances you don't mess with. Besides which, Slytherins are actually resourceful, ambitious, cunning. We are also very concerned with self-preservation. It is unfortunate that those qualities tend to be important in achieving your goals, regardless of whether that path is…evil or not. I simply want to use that ambition to win over the man whose green eyes are interfering with my sleep."

"Draco. You know I support you and Mr. Potter being in a relationship. You are equally stubborn and impossible. But there are some concerns that Harry has that are not unfounded. Telling his friends, who are incredibly important to him, that he has fallen for a wizard who used to torture him in school may not be something he is ready to deal with yet. Don't you think you should give him time?"

"Ellie. Time is not Harry Potter's friend. Time gives him the chance to talk himself into doing the stupid thing, the thing he thinks will hurt fewer people, regardless of how it affects _him._ He doesn't think of himself. It's his modus operandi. I…all I want is to be someone who thinks about him, for him. Please, Ellie. Just…trust me."

Which is how he found himself standing in front of the large, foreboding door of 12 Grimmauld Place, unsure of what he was going to say if Harry actually opened the door. It may be this uncertainty that has him calling out in a very unmanly way when, despite the fact that he doesn't knock, the door swings open, and Neville Longbottom knocks him fully to the ground.

"Umphf. Sorry, mate, I didn't-Malfoy? What in Merlin's name are you doing standing on the front porch of Harry's- Harry! Do you know there is a Slytherin in your walk?"

"What are you on about, Nev. Did you hit your head ag- Malfoy. What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"That's what I said," Neville had managed to right himself, and now had his wand drawn in front of him, pointed squarely at Draco's head.

"You are ignoring my messages." Draco said, looking at Harry and ignoring Longbottom. "I'm not entirely sure why, since I was quite confident that we had left things in a…lovely place. I may not be who I was before, but I am still a Slytherin. We do not enjoy being ignored."

"Harry, what is he on about? I'm going to hex him now, okay? How did he even find this place? He's never been here!" Neville seemed to realize something and turned quickly, wand still pointed at Draco. "Has he?"

"Nev, it's okay. You can stand down. I think Malfoy and I may need to have a tiny chat. You have a meeting, remember? I'll be fine."

"Oh, I'm not worried about _you_ , he's never been a match for you. I just hope you don't kill him. He's not worth Azkaban."

"I can assure you, Harry won't kill me."

Neville just snorted, and Disapparated. Harry said nothing, turning on his heel and going back into the house, beckoning with his hand, and speaking out, "Draco Malfoy, guest and friend" clearly trying to displace the ancient Black wards that had to be in place. He didn't bother pointing out that the house may have let him in anyways, since he was at least partly a Black.

"What do you want, exactly? I was going to answer you. I wanted to explain…I just couldn't get the words right."

But Draco isn't listening. He is too distracted by the house he is currently standing in. It is absolutely gorgeous. The walls are clean and bright, the light catching the calm and soothing colours on the walls, the modern rugs on dark wooden floors. The wainscoting is clean and white, the art tasteful and unobtrusive. There is no sign of the ancient gloom that Draco knows is synonymous with Pure Blood family Manors.

"Bloody hell, Harry. I never would have pegged you for an interior design enthusiast."

"What?" Harry looks around, as though seeing the walls and the furniture for the first time, and waves his hand even as his face flushes, "Oh. Ginny. I didn't really care all that much, but she thought it was dark and foreboding. She made me redecorate it."

The whole house may have been modern and simplistic, but it spoke of wealth, subtly. Draco found himself staring agape, sadness sweeping over him. His small house was old and run down. The only reason he didn't have a roommate to help with costs was that there wasn't physically room. There was one bathroom, one bedroom, and a kitchenette with a couch and table and chairs shoved into the other side serving as a family room. Everything he owned had been purchased second hand, and the art he had on the walls had been found at boot sales over the years. He had been saving for five years to try and move out, and he was nowhere near close.

Here was Potter, who couldn't care less about how he lived, living in the beautiful show house of a repurposed Black manor, which was only habitable because of the Weaslette, and yet Malfoy thought he had a chance with the man. Who was he kidding? Potter deserved to be with someone who could match his class, who would be worthwhile and challenging, who could support him. Draco was a shell of that person. He felt his shoulders sag, and couldn't seem to do anything about it.

"Draco, are you okay? Look, I'm so sorry. I just…I'm not sure we can…this isn't going to work, is it?"

Draco didn't respond. He felt, embarrassingly, like there was a lump in his throat. He didn't think it was a good idea to try and speak. What the hell was it about Potter that made him lose his cool? It had been happening since they were eleven. Just the way that he looked at him made Draco boil over with whatever emotion he was currently feeling. It was like Potter had a finger on his heart, and the open honesty on his face made Draco's careful veneer crack and fail.

"I'm s-sorry. I shouldn't have come," he attempts. He turns to go, and feels a light touch on his wrist that makes him pause.

"Draco, what's wrong? I'm sorry. It was awful of me to not respond after we…after you…It isn't you, you know. Draco, why are you crying? Stop."

Draco still could not respond, as he was pulled into an embrace by the man; the man whose hair smelled of coconut and outside, whose weight fit perfectly against him, who was comforting without knowing what he was comforting.

"Fuck, Harry Potter. How can you be so awkward and so perfect at the exact same fucking time?" Draco pulled back from Harry's arms and looked down into confused and worried eyes. "I am not crying. And I am not upset because you didn't owl me back. I am not _twelve_. Of course you don't think that this will work. Of course it _won't_ work. Look at you. You live like this, and you hate it. I live like…a hermit. A hobo. Do you even know how much that wainscoting cost you? Of course you don't. You have no concept, because you don't care; you are too _good_ to care."  
  
Draco was aware that he was ranting, but he stepped back one more step and continued anyway.

"And I, even now, when I haven't had it, though I loathe to admit it, care. Because I am vain. We can't make it work, and we can't make your friends understand, and we can't expect the wizarding world to understand either, which leaves us where? Stuck. As usual. Here I am. Stuck. I came to try and Slytherin you into not giving up on me, and instead, I think I just Ravenclaw-ed myself into understanding your point, and Salazar, what am I saying? Those terms _are_ weird, Ellie is right-"

"Draco."

"What?

"Shut up."

Harry's current position of still being wrapped around Draco's waist made it very easy to do what he had not been planning on doing a mere five minutes earlier. Something that, frankly, he wasn't sure he was actually ready to do. He leaned in, closing the gap Draco had created before beginning his incoherent babbling, and kissed him. With, he felt at least, far more confidence and enthusiasm than their last encounter. He didn't exactly know why, since he had been planning on informing Draco that their relationship probably wasn't a good plan. He had been, honest, he thought to himself. But then, Draco had been standing in front of him, being all insecure and scared, and making no sense, and talking himself in circles, all blond hair and kinetic magic, and in his home. There was no going back. As Draco himself kept saying, they honestly stood no chance.

There was, after all, this part. This part, they were quite good at. They fit together so well; Harry was just enough shorter that it made their reach seem like a planned thing, and Harry was just enough stronger that he was the stability despite his disadvantaged height.

It was different, he thought, kissing a man. Maybe because there was stubble and firmer jaws, and less curve between bodies, but more likely, Harry supposed, because he was actually attracted to Draco. Wasn't kissing him because it was expected of him if he was going to keep saying that he was in a relationship, like he had with Ginny. Here, there was heat and fear and drive. There was battle for control, and there were nails on scalp. He didn't feel like he would break Draco and he didn't feel like he had to be the only strong one. There were lots of issues, sure, and none of those were gone, but they sure were easier to displace when he was locked into this, wrapped around those, slammed against the wall whose value he truly did not know.

"See. Gryffindor-ed," Harry smiled, pulling away. "We are decently capable of being together like _that._ "

"Harry, that is _always_ the easy part."

"Never has been for me," Harry said, shrugging and withdrawing himself fully. "I just made a decision. We are going to make this work. We are going to try."

"Save me. Gryffindor's making rash decisions. As usual."

"Here's another one. Wanna come to Romania?"

"How could I possibly afford to-"

"I need a research assistant."

"Ya, that is totally ethical."

"I don't work for anyone. Who is going to question my ethics? And I will compensate you."

"Why Harry Potter, what you are describing sounds very much like you want me to be your geisha."

Something else Harry has noticed is that Draco Malfoy unties his tongue. He is able to say exactly what he means. Has been able to say what he is thinking since that day in the park. It is such a new thing for him, the lack of fear, the speaking with meaning, the cheeky attitude; he is enjoying it, and he doesn't plan to let it go so quickly. Which is why he steps forward again, catches the back of Draco's head, firmly pulls his hair towards him, and whispers.

"Call it what you will, Mr. Malfoy. As long as I get to keep doing this."

When Draco finally leaves fifteen minutes later, out of breath and unable to find a comfortable position within his pants beneath his robes, Draco is unsure of what has happened. He had been meaning to go and talk Harry into keeping up this thing they had started, and somehow had ended up trying to back out, with Draco being the one needing convincing. Again.

And convinced he was.

Somehow, he is both convinced, and leaving for Romania in two weeks.


	8. Dragons were a problem sometimes,  but they only came on Tuesdays

 

_"Dragons were a problem sometimes,_

_but they only came on Tuesdays, so you could work around them."_

\- Mike Carey

* * *

Neville, in a completely unsurprising way, took it pretty well when Harry said, Draco Malfoy is coming with us to Romania.

Well, okay, not at first. At first, he blew up and railed in a very uncharacteristic rant about how Harry was too trusting, asking what story Malfoy had told Harry to convince him that he was an expert in any way, or what help he had asked for, or if he needed to take him to Mungo's to check for Imperius curses. When he stopped, Harry looked at his feet and muttered too quietly for Neville to hear.

"What? What excuse did you just try to come up with to explain why I have to spend three weeks with Draco _BLOODY_ Malfoy?"

"We are sort of dating," he said a little bit louder, still unable to look Neville in the eye. "Well, or something. I don't know. We went to Romania together on that trip, well not together, but we were both there, and he's different, and he's the reason…he made me start seeing Eloise, and then we were writing letters, and-"

"Dating?!" Neville stood there for a second, not moving or blinking, looking vaguely somewhere over Harry's left shoulder, before saying rather quietly, "Does that mean you are gay?"

And all Harry can seem to manage to do is laugh. "Is that all you took from that? You're no longer worried about it being Draco Malfoy?"

"Well, no, I mean…I'm still relatively sure that there is no way Draco Malfoy is honestly just, like what, good now? But, we've been through a lot, Hare. You are pretty great at seeing beyond the surface of people- you always believed in me, even in first year. I think you are the reason that I survived the war. You believed in me, so I believed in you. If you think you know him, then...Everyone needs someone Harry; if you think you're somebody is Malfoy, well, I've seen you change in the last months. I think I'd like to keep the new old version of you back in our lives."

"Nev. Thank you. I'll introduce you two later. He really is…different now. I hope the others understand with even half your grace. Even if I doubt it; Ron is-"

"Ron will get over it. They all will. You don't have to tell them until we get back though. Maybe by then, I will understand your…decision. Then I can help."

"And in return, I won't turn your 'everyone needs someone' mantra back on you. For now."

"Harry, don't start. You're as bad as Hermione."

"Merlin, I hope not. I just think we have a point…She's only an owl away."

"It was a long time ago. I don't think she wants me."

"You don't know that."

"We can talk about Luna some other time, please and thank you. I'm sure I will hear no end of it during these wonderful cave evenings you keep going on about. Maybe I will win over this Sorina bird, and all my problems would be solved."

"That, my friend, would be hilarious. I think she could kill us all with her pinky. But, she is kind of pretty."

"So Malfoy."

"Malfoy. Who is also not going to drop the Luna thing when he finds out, knowing him."

"This? You dating Malfoy? This is why I don't gamble."

* * *

 

With as little trepidation as he could muster in his soul, he explains to Mr. Romberta that he needs a few weeks off, that he is helping with some Magical research, that in return he will provide dragon scales, some rare herb sources, maybe even a few rarer specimens if the opportunity arises.

In response, Mr. Romberta sits Draco down and tells him news. News that, with all his recent distractions, he is not expecting. But maybe should have. He considers the time he has spent at the Apothecary in the past six months. He remembers potions mixed incorrectly, vials mislabelled, spills that came from nowhere. He remembers the days he had been away having very low sales and very odd hours, if his regular customers were to be believed. And when he takes inventory of the combination of all these things, sitting at his small kitchen table that evening, he realizes he should be less shell shocked than he is as a result of this news. Replaying it in his mind, it is actually a very natural progression.

"Mr. Malfoy. Draco."

"Alfie?"

"It can't come as a surprise to you to know that I am turning 113 this year."

"What? No, actually, I am going to go with surprise on that one, if that's alright. I mean…it hadn't escaped me that you were…advanced."

Mr. Romberta had laughed, but continued unfazed, "In any case, I am going to retire in August. I'm getting too old for this business. It takes a younger, steadier hand, a life that can manage 19 hours straight of draught watching, or 3000 wand rotations in quick succession. I can't do those things anymore. I haven't really been able to for a couple years now, but you weren't ready then. You are now, and I want to go enjoy some time with my grandchildren."

"Of course, Mr. Romberta, but- forgive me- ready for what? I can find another job…you needn't worry about me. I think you have earned time off."

"My dear Draco. Anyone foolish enough to worry about you is either very daft, or very much in love with you. I wouldn't say no to keeping either type around as a friend, mind, but I am not worried, dear boy. No, you are simply ready to take over the shop. I am giving it to you. I am confident you have learned enough. You were naturally talented to begin with, but these past five years have proven you a potion master."

"Giving it to me? Mr. Romberta, I can't possibly-"

"Nonsense child, you can, you will. The transfer is already complete. It's why I sent you to the dragon fields instead of one of the interns. You needed to be out of the way for a few weeks so I could get things in order without telling you. I knew you would be resistant. But, alas, it is done. Your only choice now is to keep it. Or sell it, I suppose…"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Now, I realize that the wages have never really been up to snuff, but the slight increase in sales you have managed let me save a bit, so there is no rent on the shop. I own the building. I rather find I don't need it.  I am moving in with my daughter. To see more of them, since they are in Wiltshire. I think you should move upstairs. Hopefully, that means you can stop working at that _awful_ ministry office. The house is nothing grand, but it is light and airy, it's two floors, and it has to be better than that house you always complain about. It's less…long and narrow and claustrophobic, if nothing else."

Draco was aware that he needed to say thank you, needed to do something, but he is instead just staring at his wonderful boss- former boss, he supposes- mouth agape, looking incredibly insipid. Finally, he manages, "I find I am rather at a loss for words", but there are tears in his eyes, and he goes to hug Alfie, and he has to believe that it is enough.

"Quite well earned Mr. Malfoy. Quite deserved. Worry not. You are proof in the pudding, you are. Never really knew what that term meant, but I think I will use it here, regardless. Never stop giving 'em hell, now, okay? You have earned much more than you have been given; don't let them tell you differently."

He had nodded, as the old man had picked up one suitcase, which had been waiting at the door all along, tapped the side of his nose knowingly, and headed out the door.

Draco ran upstairs immediately after, only to discover that the apartment above the shop was already empty. Empty, and beautiful. It had obviously been magically enlarged at some point ages ago, making it much larger than should have been possible from the size of the store front. The ceilings were high and bright, large windows at both ends, and even though there were no walls dividing the space, there would be room for an actual table and chairs, a complete sitting area and a couple of bookshelves. And upstairs, the bathroom had a full tub, and the bedroom was large enough that he would have to investigate buying a new, bigger bed.

He had an impulse to call Potter, to bring him into this empty space, to show him that he was going to make his life better. Upon investigation of that impulse, he realizes it is an incredibly petty thought. He is clearly feeling the fact that he was so impressed with Potter's house; he does not need to show off his recent development. Not to Harry, at least.

Eloise, on the other hand, is thrilled when he invites her over for tea. He doesn't explain why, but asks her to meet him at the shop. When she arrives, he makes a big show of taking her upstairs, where he has only moved his kitchen set and kettle. She laughs with delight when he explains, and offers to help him decorate when he is ready.

"It may have to wait a few weeks," he says sheepishly.

"Oh? Too busy with something, are you?"

"I may be…going to Romania with Neville Longbottom and Harry. Research project."

Eloise laughed lightly. "Yes, he might have mentioned. I may have tried to talk him out of it, but since you two don't do things by half, I assume that you will either survive or kill each other."

"I don't suppose you can come?"

"Funny, he asked the same thing. It was hard enough taking the five days off in April."

"I know...It'd be nice though, wouldn't it? Just a little…escape like."

"It would be. Which is how Harry talked me into coming for five days this time, too," Eloise said, laughing still. "You two are really far too alike for it to be safe.

Draco smiled and laughed.

"You will have to figure it out for the first week though. I'm coming in the middle of your trip. Try not to get killed by Mr. Longbottom between now and then."

"Longbottom? I think I'll be okay."

"You underestimating him would be a poor way to start. I know you try to avoid talking about the Battle of Hogwarts, but he was…rather important, from what I hear from Harry. And Harry trusts him as he trusts few others. You would do well to get on his good side."

"Alright, alright. I guess I should work on forgiving all Gryffindors."

"Well, at least as long as they are busy forgiving you. You do realize; Harry has no family. His friends are his family. You were never really very nice to that family. You have some work ahead of have to be prepared for that. Even if Harry is, and I quote, 'having a hard time remembering the negative side of this thing when he is standing in front of me in black Muggle shirts.'"

"Black, eh? Interesting. He keeps wearing green," Ellie just smiled into her mug. "Ellie. Do you really think this is worth our time?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Malfoy."

Draco looked up, a bit shocked at the usually docile woman's acerbic tone.

"Well, I mean really. You are not my client. I'm done with patience for you. _Merde_. You are so dramatic, for no reason. Grow up, Petit. Does anyone, ever, know for sure that the relationships they begin are worth it? That they will work? Yes, you have a weird 'istory. But it is not as 'orrible a past as you like to pretend. As you both like to pretend. I am pretty sure you wanted each other, even in school. You just acted like thorns in heels of each other as the only way to show it. Now, you are working on it; I think you can likely handle it. If you grow up. Okay? Okay."

"Ellie. How did I make it this far without you kicking my butt now and then."

"I am not sure. But when you are happy and fat and rich, I want credit."

* * *

 

When the weird, ragtag bunch reached the Portkey point the following week, there was a tense moment of silence between the three. They looked at each other, each meaning to start the introductions, but nothing came to mind.

Until Draco stuck forward his hand, and said, "Mr. Longbottom. It's been a while. And I'm not sure we have ever properly met. It's nice to meet another hero of the wizarding world. Or, I guess, THE other hero of the wizarding world. You deserve my thanks, and it should have been given years ago. So, thank you."

Neville had stood shell shocked for a moment, but then had shaken Draco's hand tentatively, and said, "I'm so excited to see these dragons."

Draco had laughed lightly at this, making his face transform, proving Harry's point. Neville had caught Harry's eye as they reached out to take hold of the tattered baby toy they had been given as a Portkey, and nodded imperceptibly in approval. Harry beamed as he felt the exhilarating, disorienting tug pull them forward. Neville may be relatively easy to win over, but he was going to take it as a win nonetheless.

Draco and Harry enthusiastically greeted Sorina, who seemed thrilled to have some familiar people back to the remote area, and they trekked off right away. Finally settling close to where they had that first night in April, with Neville bouncing from foot to foot like he is six year's old as he unpacks.

"Why are you doing that?" Sorina asked, clearly unimpressed.

"What? Oh. Sorry. I'm a bit...excited. Dragons. I've never seen one up close."

"Well, calm down, please. They are very sensitive. You're going to stress them out."

"With my magical signature?"

"No. With your...happiness."

Neville laughed, only realizing as a second thought that Sorina actually wasn't kidding, and stopping his crazy movement.

They wandered outside into the brilliant late morning sun.

"We have to make sure we keep Harry inside at noon. He doesn't take his dragon mobs well," Draco's smirk was only slightly mean, mostly with a twinkle in the eye that made Harry chuckle lightly as they wander over to the ridge where the heard frequented.

Neville kept looking back and forth between Draco and Harry, clearly trying to sort out how he dealt with these teasing, flirty interactions; he wasn't sure how to reconcile the two different sides both men seemed to possess, so he turned instead to the task at hand.

"Harry, is there anything you want me to be doing this morning? I can take notes, or photos, or something? We can set the enchantments later, but..."

"Neville, take it easy. There's time. I am telling you, wait until you see them. They are...something. Just enjoy it for now."

"He's right. You don't get to see it for the first time twice," Draco nodded emphatically.

"Gentlemen. To your left."

Sure enough, Neville is just as stunned as Harry had been upon seeing the Longhorn Herd in the clearing, and the four of them sit silently for a long time, just watching and listening. Even Sorina seems less stressed than she had on tour, more in her element, idly sketching something into a small notebook, humming softly to herself as the dragons frolicked in the morning sun below.

Harry looks over at Draco, who is watching the scene before him with rapt attention, that small smile back on his face. His blond hair shines in the sun, flopping uncontrollably in away that is likely making him crazy. He is playing with a stick, etching into the stone beneath his legs, and looking around with that bloody smile. He is sitting so close, so easily accessible, and for the first time, Harry questions the wisdom of inviting a man he is only just getting to know into the wilderness with him. It had been quite an impulsive decision; sure, he could argue that Draco knew more than he did about magic, having grown up with magic, understanding dragons, and the interaction of magical creatures with signatures. But he was lying to himself if he thought that was the only reason why he had invited Draco along. It wasn't, and they all knew it. He just had to behave himself, and make this about what he wanted it to be about; getting to know Draco.

He waited thirty more seconds and then inched closer to Draco, nudging him lightly with his arm. Keeping his voice low, he tried to casually drop, "What are you always smiling about?"

Draco, to his credit, does not even look like he is surprised, just leans into Harry's arm lightly.

"Dunno, I'll stop," he laughed. "Just happy, I suppose. Things are...good. In my life. I get kind of bogged down sometimes. I got to remember how good I've got it this week."

"That smile though, does it...is it about something else. It seems like it only appears sometimes."

"Oh merlin, are you a cataloguer?"

"A what?"

"A Cataloguer. You take note of everything I do, store it away in case it is important later?"

Harry nearly choked on laughter, "Sadly, hearing you describe it that way, I fear I may be...Or at least, that I may always have been when it comes to you."

"Hm. Interesting. Well, hopefully, I can start working on making the catalogue a bit prettier from now on."

Harry felt himself blush, but didn't move away from the reassuring pressure on his arm.

"And Harry. That smile," Harry turned his head at the pause, the hitch in voice, and Draco's voice drops even lower, "I think I know which one you mean. It's the smile that I only get when I think about you."

Harry says nothing, not trusting his voice, but is determined not to pull away first, couldn't be paid enough to move at this point, wouldn't be convinced even if a giant horde of-

"Harry. It's 11:50," Sorina called out.

"Yup. Time to go. I'll see you in the cave."


	9. Unless a dragon eats it

 

_"What goes up must come down, unless a dragon eats it."_

― Brian Rathbone

* * *

The next four days were spent in a sort of blur, a haphazard schedule forming. In the morning, Neville would wake first. The years of being on night shifts at the hospital's potions and herbs dispensary kicking in and waking him, despite very little sleep. He would wander outside and set up the detection spells and observation charms they had decided to use to monitor the magical energy the Dragons gave off. By the time he returned, Sorina would be awake, and he would help her scrounge up food for the group, while trying to explain what they were trying to do.

The main idea, they had decided, was to collect as much data about how the dragons magically impacted their world, how much energy they put out, and what that energy did to the areas where they spent a lot of time. From there, Harry and Neville would study the same energy on other creatures, trying to determine if the size, use of magical traits, location, or species population made a difference. Questioning Muggles would be pointless if they didn't understand what they were looking for.

They would stop working at tea time, leaving the charms active for a few more hours, but no longer monitoring. Sorina was baffled by their work, but didn't seem to mind the short days. They would spend the evening lazing about in the field by their sleeping cave, spending long hours throwing the disc Harry had brought (which none of the others had ever seen before, but became attached to quite quickly), followed by just as much time laughing and chatting in front of the fire. Harry felt fortunate that Neville and Sorina were getting along so well- they had actually hit it off right from the start. It would have been extremely awkward otherwise. He, for his part, spent a great majority of time distracted by the blond man who seemed to want to know everything there ever was to know about him. Either that, or distracted by the blond man in...other ways.

They knew they weren't being subtle, but he couldn't seem to find more decorum in his behaviour, and Neville seemed just fine with spending extra time outside the cave with just Sorina and the fire when he and Draco, ahem, 'turned it in'. They weren't doing anything that risqué (because, he argued, there was _no way_ to make that less awkward. They both knew that. They were adults, but adults who had once lived in communal dorms. There was no need to rush anything, and no need to ruin Neville's holiday).

But, Harry had to admit, he had forgotten how much he enjoyed sleeping next to someone, hearing their small noises in the night, being comforted by a warm weight when he woke up for the fifteenth time, smelling someone else on your clothes. It had been a long time since he had broken up with Ginny, and he was starting to see, once again, that Eloise was right. He had been lonely. He was excited to not be alone, even in this very bizarre, sort of eighty-year-old way.

He figured he had plenty of time for the physical side, and for now, he was really enjoying this version of Draco. He had figured out how much Draco enjoyed coffee, and that he preferred to be cold, and that he hated wearing anything on his wrists. He had discovered that the dark mark on Draco's arm both embarrassed him, and was an immensely erogenous zone, since he never let anyone touch it when he was paying attention. He discovered that the stories he already knew from the letters had left out the year Draco had spent nearly starving, only surviving because Mr. Romberta would force him to eat sandwiches he made for Draco at the shop, correctly assuming that he wasn't eating anything when he got home.

He discovered that the Slytherin pride that he had used to anger Harry while in school was rooted in Draco's father, in his vaguely abusive memories of having to beat house elves, and memorize chart after chart of Pure Blood family trees. He learned of summers spent with his mother at the Black cottage with just her family, how much fun he had, how much he loved the sea as a result. How he wished he could go back just to see her, but how the wards didn't allow him anywhere near either home.

Harry tried to give as much information of himself as he could, and slowly sorted out what made Draco laugh, how their common histories overlapped, the different perspective he had of some of Draco's memory of school. He gave in one night, and proved what a nerd he was about the stars. The sky was so clear here, he spent nearly an hour naming constellation after constellation, pointing out supernovae and planets and galaxy clusters, much to the delight of Draco, Neville and Sorina.

He told the Greek legends he had memorized for Draco's constellation, even though the late summer made it difficult to see over the horizon until well into the night. He told them the story of the huntress, and of Ara, the altar of the Gods. That night, they had all stayed outside until it was so late, they had lost track of how late it was, and the last of the stars had risen, and as they all slowly fell asleep outside, curled around the fire, Harry thought to cast some wards just in case.

The next day, Neville would disappear again, always first, and everything would start over. They had long afternoons of hiking surrounding areas, and Harry was relatively sure that he had seen every species of dragon he had come to see, save the blue jaculus which Soria promised were small and notoriously difficult to catch. She was fully fascinated with the research now, and helped in whatever way she could, which proved to be very helpful indeed. She suggested, for example, that they use new nests as places to put charms, since maternal bond in some dragons may be a great place to witness magical energy.

The week passed by quickly, so quickly that when Draco woke up on the fifth day, entangled in Harry's arms, he felt a pang of surprise as he whispered, "Ellie comes today."

Harry, stirring beside him, gave a small smile, "You know, I've never heard you refer to anyone else by a nickname. Why is Eloise so special? I've never heard anyone else call her Ellie, for that matter."

"It's a long story…"

Harry had been planning on dropping it, a trait he had finally gotten the hang of since being around Draco, who would often start stories, then decide Harry wasn't ready to hear them. Harry was usually going to hear it later, and so although it nearly destroyed his curiosity every time, he would just drop it. Right now, however, Draco decides to continue.

"When I was small, my mom got sick. She was in bed for months. To this day, I don't know what was wrong. But, I had a governess while she was ill. God forbid my father take care of me for a few weeks. Her name was Eloise. She was…less than kind. When I told Ellie the story, she decided I was no longer going to associate her with my awful nanny, and she said her grandmother had called her _Aylee_ in French, so I could call her that too. It was a nice way to think of her, so it stuck. Normally, I don't do that- call people by other names. It's just another way to hide. I like people's identities to be in front of me. But, Ellie? Ellie makes more sense to me, because I see that as who she is."

Harry had nodded, and kissed Draco fiercely. He was always unable to leave Draco's lips alone when he looked so vulnerable, when he told a story that let Harry into the recesses of his mind, when he wore that expression that seemed to beg for Harry understand. It was like he was handing over one brick at a time, slowly breaking down his own defenses. And Harry had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

* * *

 

Later that day, Sorina went on her own to the apparition point to get Eloise. It was going to be a few hours until she returned, and Neville was off looking for some berry he wanted to use to make tea. They had decided unanimously that no one would really do anything taxing today. As a result, Harry and Draco sat, entwined, at the mouth of the cave, Draco sitting between Harry's legs idly logging notes. Or at least he had been. At some point he had stopped writing and was dozing instead, lulled to sleep by Harry's hands combing through his hair and the warmth of the sun.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to completely fall asleep."

"I can't. It's so soft. At least I know I have found your weakness."

"Should've thought that one was obvious."

Before Harry can retort, he spots Neville wandering up the path, a silly, quirked grin on his face. Seeing them, he stops and waves his arms in an exaggerated way.

"You two may want to stop being so…together. Sorina just sent a Patronus saying she is almost back, and that Eloise has brought a 'surprise'."

Before they have time to react, Harry hears the sound of more than just two small women coming up the path. Right in front of Sorina and Eloise is Ron. And as they approach, right in front of Eloise is Ron, wand raised, bright red, and obviously fuming.

Harry can't stop Ron before he is sending hexes and curses in Draco's direction, who at some point during Harry's slow motion shock reaction, has scrambled up and is defending himself with his own wand, sending multi-coloured sparks everywhere. He can't find an opening to intervene, knowing that stopping a duel at the wrong time, especially one started in earnest harm, could be disastrous for the one interrupting. Out of the corner of his eye, he is vaguely aware of Hermione screaming, of Sorina begging them to calm down before their magic disturbs the dragons, and of Ron shouting something about love potions and questioning about antidotes.

Finally, Harry recognizes a weak stinging curse, appearing as Ron's anger exhausts his magic, and he lunges forward, picking up Ron easily, who despite his height advantage, has never been as fast or strong as Harry, and is terrible in a fist fight. Trying to catch his attention more than anything, Harry gets Ron against the cave wall, arm to his neck and begins shouting his name. Many times. He doesn't seem to be getting through, as the man continues to struggle and push, trying to get his wand arm back into position.

"RON BILIUS WEASLEY, you will stop right now!" Harry shouts, louder than is necessary, trying to get through to angry Ronald. "You will stop screaming and casting spells that could hurt us all. You will stop embarrassing yourself. And most importantly, you will STOP. HEXING. MY BOYFRIEND. OR Merlin help me, I will snap your wand in two."

Ron sagged beneath Harry's arm, staring in shock at Harry's face, only inches from his own. "Your boy-boy...friend?! Harry. Blimey," Ron seems to lose all ability of speech for a long moment. Harry cannot decide whether or not to let him go, until he whispers, "Does that mean you are gay?"

"Oh for Godric sake, is that all you guys care about? Yes, I am gay. Yes, he is Draco Malfoy. Why does one make the other so much less shocking?"

"Harry. Whatever mate. Whatever, er, blithers your broom, seriously, but MALFOY? What did that git do to you? Did he curse you? Does he have some sort of dirt on you? Is he blackmailing you? Blink once if you are here of your own will."

"Oh for crying out loud, Ronald," Hermione hissed. She had stopped screaming and was looking from person to person in this extremely confusing scene, obviously still conflicted, but unable to decide whether to side with her boyfriend, or the man she knew just as well.

"Will you stop being so ridiculous? Obviously, if you put your wand down, Harry can let you go and start explaining what is clearly a long and messy story. Neville has been here this whole time too. Do you think _he_ cursed Harry? Or that Eloise wouldn't know something about this? So stop being such a giant git and let Harry explain."

It takes the rest of the morning to explain the past six months. Hermione begins crying at one point, a situation that has always baffled both Harry and Ron, but somehow, Draco reacts first, and gets up and moves to sit beside her, murmuring how sorry he is, for everything. For not telling her sooner.

"Hermione, is that really what's upsetting you? That I didn't say something? Because really…that would have required figuring it out myself," Harry was really quite confused. He would have thought his lack of comprehension of female thoughts was from his sexuality, if he didn't know that Ron was just as clueless sitting beside him, and that Draco had absolutely hit the nail on the head. Apparently, they were just stupid.

"Yes. No. I don't know, Harry. You were… _we_ were so scared, for so long. You disappeared inside yourself. We didn't even recognize you. Ron didn't want to send you to Romania in case you never... and then you came back with this hopeful face, and we met Eloise, and you were on the right track and…oh god."

She covered her mouth with her face and started sobbing again. It took many moments before she could continue.

"We aren't the reason you never came out in school are we? Because seriously, we love you, no matter what. Especially, now, because we know who you really are, that you are happy. We didn't make you afraid to say, did we?"

"No! Hermione, no," Harry stands up and goes over to give Hermione a hug. "No, never. I just figured it out. Eloise helped me. I've always been a bit slow on the uptake, haven't I?"

He hears Draco snort in the background, and turns his head away from Hermione's shoulder to glare at him. Ron, looking between them, gets up and walks away. Harry goes to follow him, but Hermione puts a hand to his arm.

"Just give him a minute to cool off. You know what he's like."

Harry nods, and walks back into the cave to take a minute himself.

Eloise, in the meantime, has moved off to where Neville, Draco and Sorina are sitting. She looks like she is on the verge of tears, and Draco beckons for her to come and sit beside him.

"How angry do you think Harry is? Oh, merde, are _you_ angry, Draco? They owled to ask if they could join me, and it seemed like a decent idea at the time. I thought I understood. I thought-"

"No. Ellie, of course I am not angry. Harry won't be either, eventually, even if he is right now. I sort of doubt he is really. You just don't know how awful I was to them back then. Not really. I honestly, god help me, understand where Weasley is coming from. We'd already talked about telling them when we got back, you know. I didn't want to, but Harry was hell bent. Something about you telling him he couldn't do things just for other people anymore."

That elicited a half smile from the still teary Eloise, "Sort of glad to hear he listened. He doesn't always seem to be."

"I know. Damned annoying isn't it? He hears everything, sees everything. It almost seems like he hears better when he is only half paying attention. Something tells me at that at some point, that is going to really piss me off."

Neville laughed, and Draco turned to quirk his eyebrow.

"You're right. At some point, it will," Neville said. "I said something rather, er, personal to him. Right after the Battle of Hogwarts, just because we were all so full of adrenaline, and it just seemed to come out. He didn't seem to be paying any attention, so I thought I had gotten away with it. And now, he constantly tortures me with it."

The four of them watch as Ron storms off, and Harry disappears into the cave. Draco thinks he should follow him, but Eloise shakes her head beside him and mutters 'give him time' and somehow, he knows she is right.

Five minutes later, Harry wanders off in the same direction as Ron, and finds him a short distance away, standing on the ridge, hands in his pocket, staring at the sky.

"Ron. How angry are you? Are you going to get over this one? Or are we back to fourth year. Or the Forest of Dean. Because you know, I would really like to have my best mate with me right now."

"Malfoy. Draco bloody Malfoy, Harry. Why? After everything he did. Hell, after everything WE did because we thought HE was doing something. After he threatened Dumbledore- Merlin, he was awful to Hermione for forever. Me, too. My whole family. I just...I don't get ?"

Harry doesn't answer right away. Sits down over the ridge.

"All the reasons I want to give you, they won't make any sense to you. They won't change your mind."

Both men linger in silence for a moment, trying and failing to understand each other. Harry looks up, and begins again.

"It was so easy for you. You had Hermione, the whole time. And since then, you've had her. So I know you really do understand, even if the 'who' is a bit fuzzy, a bit painful. Having someone who understands you completely-"

"We understand you, Harry. _We_ get you comeple-"

"So I can join you in bed, can I?"

Ron starts to interject, but frustrated, Harry continues, "Ron, I like him. Things are...different, but also, I think we misjudged him in school, and even if we didn't, he was going through a lot. He's explained so much. I understand better now. He isn't that person, any more than you and I are those people. We were all just fighting to stay alive back then. Maybe his choices didn't seem quite right to us at the time, but he was never the evil one. What if you had been born to Death Eaters? Can you say you wouldn't have done some of those things too? I don't think I can. If you ask him to, he will apologize. He apologized to Neville. If you look at things from his perspective-"

"His PERSPECTIVE? Merlin, listen to-"

"Yes, Ron. _Listen_ to me. Look at something from his point of view. Terrible things happened to his family. Terrible things have happened to him since. He is as alone as I am. And for now, that is working for us. And I want you on my side. We have been through so much, and I need you. Still- and I have thought about this a lot, so try to understand that I mean it- if you make me choose, I'm going to see this through anyways. And if I am making a mistake, I will deal with the pain of that mistake. It would be awesome not to have to choose though, mate, honestly."

Ron said nothing, refused to meet Harry's gaze, and for a full five minutes, neither of them said anything. Ron turned as if he was going to walk away, but paused after just a few steps.

"I'm going to hex him the first opportunity he gives me, the first quip he makes about Hermione's birth status. And," he pauses and looks down at Harry, who has not moved an inch. "And, I _will_ kill him if he ends up hurting you. Seriously, I will. George'll help. And he better in Godric's name apologize for eight years of crap, pain, and detentions accumulated because of him."

Harry leaps up and tackles Ron into a hug, and hears him mutter into his jumper, "I definitely don't want to be you when you try to explain to Ginny. Come on, we better go back and deal with Hermione, because you know she's slowly dying of concern."

* * *

 

The next two days don't exactly go smoothly. Ron won't actually speak to Draco directly, although he does nod (somewhat dismissively) in response to Draco's apology about his childhood behaviour. He refuses to sleep inside the cave without first setting up a small Muggle pup tent for he and Hermione, which he insists on warding as well. Hermione tries desperately to keep civility between the three of them, and Neville is doing his level best to drop helpful tidbits of information that he has stored about Draco into conversations when he thinks they will be helpful. Eloise is nearly killing herself trying to mediate everything, and Sorina spends as much time as possible nowhere near the rest of the group, baffled by the sudden hostility she finds there after five days of such calm.

Harry is fuming with Ron, while at the same time feeling extremely fortunate that his best friend and his..whatever Draco was are both still alive. It's quite a complicated emotion to be dealing with, and he is conscious of the fact that he has withdrawn into himself, which is in turn confusing Draco, who believes it is his fault. Despite his defence in anger to Ron, he and Draco hadn't actually defined their relationship, and it was causing both of them confusion in the close proximity of their cave home.

As the days progress, Draco spends more and more time away from the group, searching the fields and forest for ingredients or writing in his journal, trying to give time to Hermione and Harry, who are trying to convince Ron. The complicated thing, the thing he would like to explain, is how little he had meant all of those things in school. How immature he had been, how jealous he was of the fact that they had real friends, not just cronies. He hadn't, of course, known that he was jealous. Not at the time. He felt that particular truth much later, when he had had the opportunity to make some real friends for himself, after all the people in school who pretended to be friends for fame and fortune had fallen away.

He wanted to explain that it was why he liked Harry so much; he had never, not even in school, been swayed by someone's name, or fortune, or power. Sure, it was partly because he had and hated all those things himself. But he hadn't known that when he had become who he was. Harry was just Harry. He was attracted to people because of who they were. His goodness, his desire to like Draco for who he really was; those things were making Draco better. He can't explain this to them, however, because they won't sit and talk. He suspects he could convince Granger to listen to him, if it weren't for Weasley's insistence that they go to bed as soon as they were finished dinner.

"Ron's a bit stubborn, mate. Just give him time," Neville says through a mouthful of treacle tart on the second night.

"You don't say," Draco responds dryly. "Harry, I think tomorrow, I'm going to get up early and go get those ferns I need. They are a bit far, so it should give you all morning to talk to them. I'm so so-"

"Draco. Do not. Keep. Apologizing. He didn't kill you. That's a pretty good endorsement for the time being."

And Harry's silly grin nearly convinces him as he heads off to his own- now very separate- sleeping space early in the evening.

When Harry wakes up the next day, Draco, true to his word, is already gone. Only three nights without having him at his side has been disorienting, and Harry hasn't slept as well. Which, he chastises himself, is a terrible thing. After all, once they return to real life, they are going to be in different cities again. He really can't afford to get so used to Malfoy being right next to him all the time. Otherwise, he would fall apart again upon returning to London.

It's hard though, because ultimately, he has no reason to _be_ in London. He doesn't actually like living there. There isn't enough nature. His friends don't even live there anymore. Neville had moved to Chippenham with his war reparation money, in an attempt to both be out of the city, and closer to his grandmother. He didn't seem to mind the commute to the hospital, but Harry suspected he was also only a year or two away from opening his own shop. George spent most of his time at the Hogsmeade store. Ron and Hermione were currently in Oxford, but Hermione was getting sick of their house again, and who knew where they would end up next; she seemed determined to move every other year for the rest of their lives, and since they could both commute into the city by Portkey wherever they ended up, it didn't matter. Ron seemed happy. As long as he could still go see Cannons games, his only stipulation, he didn't seem to care where they were. Even Ginny and Dean had moved up to Scotland so Dean could be near his family when Gin was away with the Harpies. No one was based in London, even those who still worked in London. And he didn't even do that. He had no idea what was keeping him there. IF anything was keeping him there. He made a mental note to discuss that particular fact with Draco later. Or maybe Eloise.

Eloise. He would have to, at some point, start making life decisions for himself again. It would, he thought, be easier to just be able to have her as a friend, instead of this complicated dual relationship they had accidently formed.

That morning, Harry spent some time just going through the magical data he had collected. He was pleased. He was seeing patterns, was able to tell, in fact, the difference between the species of dragons he was looking at. It was exciting. He diffused some of Ron's anger by calling up the chart of swirling colours with his wand and showing him.

"Woah, Harry. Why has no one else figured this out before? Charlie would love this. We have to show him when you are through."

"Course."

Hermione busied them both with so many questions, Harry's head had started to spin, when he suddenly looked up with alarm at the placement of the sun in the sky.

"Sorina."

"Hm?" She was sitting beside Neville, idly sketching him, much to his express embarrassment.

"What time is it?"

"Relax, Harry. He has time."

"No, he doesn't. I don't think. What time is it?"

"Eleven forty five," she said reluctantly.

"Where is Draco?"

"Why? Does it matter? Will he perish if he doesn't get lunch?" Ron was obviously being dismissive, but Harry didn't have time or energy to explain.

"Harry, relax, seriously. He probably just lost track of time. He knows. He'll have taken cover."

"No Sorina, you don't understand. He'd of sent a Patronus. Because of that day in April. Remember Eloise?"

"Harry may have a point. Draco would know we would worry. He would have sent something, if he…" she doesn't finish her sentence, and Harry hits full-on panic.

"I have to go. He…he came for me."

Neville, Sorina, and Eloise all speak at once, dazing those unfamiliar with the noon hour problem. Still, no one actually tries to stop him as he heads in the direction of the ferns Draco had been looking for. He doesn't have a real plan, since he has very little time to actually find Draco, and definitely not enough time to get to the place he had been collecting if Draco hasn't even moved. He sends his Patronus off in front of him, hoping that Draco will at least see it. When the stag comes back, circles around him once, and darts off again, except slightly to the East, Harry goes with his hunch and follows it.

Five minutes later, he spots khaki on the ground and sprints forward.

"Draco!"

The man doesn't move, and Harry looks down to see Draco's face scratched and bleeding, his ankle twisted at a bizarre angle. Springing into immediate action mode, he looks around wildly, thankful for the rocky crags that fill the entire area. Casting a hasty stasis, then Levicorpus, he moves Draco as carefully as he can to a nearby underhanging that is barely large enough to hold them both, sitting down beneath it with Draco's head in his lap. It isn't really that safe, but it will have to do. He can already hear the dragons moving into the air, and he is grateful that he doesn't have to see the dimming of the sky as they all take flight. The memory of his breakdown is very recent in his mind, and he isn't keen to see it again. He is just hoping that their current hiding spot will be enough.

He looks down at the unconscious form beneath him, pulling fingers through the feathery hair, begging.

"Draco. Draco, please wake up. I'm really not ready to face the dragons alone."


	10. You will slay the dragon

_If you're in love with somebody, you will swim the stream, you will climb the mountain, you will slay the dragon._

_You're going to get to [them] somehow, some way._

\- Phil McGraw

* * *

Harry sits with Draco's head in his lap, stroking too-soft hair, for what feels like a million years. He hears roars and screeches, and the beating of thousands of wings. He knows that he cannot send his Patronus forth to the others to tell them he is hidden, since he knows now that the magic would cause attention from dragons, who were currently hungry and soaring over his head. He just has to wait, and hope that the others will have convinced Ron and Hermione to stay put until the coast is clear. He murmurs comfortingly to Draco, telling him the story of his time in Professor Trelawney's classroom, of the grim and of making up his star charts with Ron in the Gryffindor common room. He's talking for the sake of talking, but for now, the belief that is doing good, doing something, staying calm, is enough.

Draco's breath is regular, his pulse beating steadily under Harry's hands, and at least for now, it is probably a good thing that he is unconscious; Harry has no idea what has happened, what the full extent of his injuries are, or how bad the ankle break may be. As long as he is not moving, he is not injuring himself further. He idly wonders how good Neville's healing spells are. His own are rubbish, and they are almost a two hour hike from the Apparation point. Although, it is likely that Sorina has some healing on her side, and Hermione is good in a pinch. He is oddly calm by this point, which, when he considers the last time he was in a cave in Romania, not quite safe at noon hour, with Draco Malfoy, is quite an improvement.

Finally, he casts a tempus and realizes it has been over an hour. He moves Draco slightly so he can peer out of the entrance of the overhang, his muscles protesting after sitting in the same cramped position for ages. The skies are clear and he quickly sends off a Patronus requesting help, hoping that the stag will show them the way simply because he is willing it to, but still not really understanding the magic behind the messaging system of the complex charm.

"Harry!? HARRY! DRACO!"

It has been less than five minutes, but the voice is definitely Neville's, and he calls back, "Here!" as loudly as he can, sending red sparks into the air, a spell he has not used since the Triwizard maze. He doesn't risk shifting so much that he moves Draco anymore, and waits.

Neville appears at the mouth of the underhanging and looks down at Draco, shaking his head. "What happened? He's really scratched up. Are you okay? We had to wait…Merlin, Harry, _what_ happened."

"No idea. He's been out since I found him, just over there in the field. I cast a stasis before I moved him, but his ankle is definitely broken. I wasn't even sure that we were going to be hidden enough here…"

"Okay. Okay, let me think. I'm going to just grab Sorina, sit tight."

"I'm here!" she called from just over his shoulder. "If Harry cast a stasis, it should be fine to move him back out of there. I can't get in there to help otherwise."

Together, Harry and Neville carefully move Draco backwards into the clearing, as Eloise rushes forward to try and see what's happening. Hermione and Ron are just behind her, standing on the path. Harry ignores them. He doesn't have the energy to care that Ron is scowling and Hermione is hopping back and forth on her feet in the nervous way she does.

"Draco. You need to wake up and tell us what happened. Please. We can't help you if we don't know what happened," Harry is aware that he is begging, begging with an unconscious man who has given no sign of understanding or hearing him for nearly an hour. That can't be a good sign. Suddenly, he feels someone at his elbow, turns his head to find Hermione kneeling beside Draco.

"Mal- Draco. I'm going to try casting a Consurge. It's a healing spell. It should wake you up. Harry, he probably just rattled his head a bit. He hasn't been out that long, not really."

She muttered something under her breath, moving her wand in a complicated swirl around Draco's head, then waits. When Draco stirs, Harry lets out the air he has been holding in and hugs Hermione, who just nods and takes a step back.

"Harry? What…where are we?" Draco is looking at him, but hasn't moved his head. He sees the panic in Draco's eyes just before he goes to wrench himself upright, and Harry firmly places his hands on both of Draco's shoulders, moving so he has his head in his lap again.

"Draco, don't move, okay? We don't know what happened, but your ankle is definitely not okay. You were out when I found you, so Neville is trying to sort out what else is wrong."

"But feeding, it's almost-"

"It's well past noon."

"How?"

"I came and found you. You didn't come back," Harry was just starting to feel the anger edge over his fear. "What happened?"

"I.….oh fuck, Neville, that's not fun." Draco had gone very pale at the sensation of Neville inspecting his foot.

"I know, I'm sorry. I need to set it. You're going to need to go to Mungo's eventually, but-"

"I can heal it," Sorina said behind them. "I've healed quite a few limbs, I'm good at the incantation. You will still need to go to Mungo's eventually, to get checked out, but I can fix your leg. I used to be a healer."

They all looked at her for a moment, at the admission that her life had a history and a past as well. None of them, embarrassingly, had ever asked. "Nev, if you can assist me. Draco, you will need to stay very still. Everyone else, back up. You too, Potter. I need room."

Draco caught Harry's eyes and smiled weakly, so he backed up with Eloise and Hermione, standing with Ron. They can't hear what's happening between Neville and Sorina, who are muttering and exchanging words with Draco.

"You okay?" Ron asked gruffly. Harry simply nods shortly. "Good. _He_  okay?"

"Dunno. Dunno what happened."

"Well. Try not to panic. Doesn't help."

They stand silently for a few more minutes, watching. Ron, watching the scene, suddenly mutters, "Something going on between those two?"

Harry looked up and laughed, a bit surprised, but grateful for Ron's typically inappropriate reaction. He watches the scene from Ron's perspective for a moment, and realizes what Ron is seeing, "Some harmless flirting, I think. Sorina wouldn't leave Romania, and I'm pretty sure Neville was done for long ago."

Hermione smiled sadly, "If only he would bother to send her a message."

Finally, after long and tense moments, Draco gives a cry of pain but then moves his leg in test. Harry rushes back forward as he moves to sit up.

"Should he be doing that?"

"We think he is fine. He will tell you what happened, but I checked his head. It's just the scratches you see. He got knocked out, for sure, and he may have a mild concussion. Neville has some Wolfsbane we can brew up tea as to help with the headache. I think he will be fine, though. His body just reacted to the pain. He is very lucky, you will see, when he tells you the story, you will see..."

Draco looks up at Harry and smiles his smile, but this time, Harry is not fooled. There is pain and exhaustion in his face. Draco goes to begin telling the story he has clearly started with Neville and Sorina, but Hermione interjects.

"Draco," he looks up at her, surprised by the direct address, the use of his given name. "Why don't we go back, get you some Wolfsbane, some water? Get your face cleaned up and start a fire? You can tell us all then. There's no rush, and I think we could all use a moment to calm down."

Draco nods, smiling at her gratefully. "Good plan, Granger….Hermione?"

"Hermione," she says, nodding. Ron watches this scene, and although he doesn't actually react at all, Harry knows that this non-reaction is in fact a very loud reaction indeed.

The whole thing had made _his_ head hurt. Too many emotions, too many things to deal with; adrenaline from the ordeal; relief from Draco's grey eyes snapping open, meeting his; joy from Hermione's obvious decision to let Draco in (at least sort of), and fear of how Ron would respond from now on. He couldn't handle it, and as he helped Neville help Draco up, as they started walking back towards the cave, he knew he was full on trembling, shaking so badly that he was sort of unstable. Draco turned and gave him a weak smile.

"Aren't I meant to the one in distress here?"

"Shut up, you great git. You're lucky you aren't dead; I'd of killed you for scaring me to death."

"What? Harry Potter, you are very lucky you are pretty. Because you are not, at all, eloquent."

"Hare, why don't you let me help, mate. You look like maybe you shouldn't be carrying," Ron stepped up and looped Draco's arm around his shoulder, displacing Harry and supporting Draco's weight easily.

He is a bit shocked, but Harry sags with relief as he lets go, and Hermione offers her arm like she has so many times before. He takes it, and even accepts her look of concern at his shaking, leaning into her a bit and relishing in the familiar contact of his non-sibling sibling.

"Hey, 'Mione," he whispers. "Love you."

"Love you too, you great fool. Please stop making me worry about you."

"But Hermione, what would you do then?"

She hits his side gently, but doesn't release her support.

"Seriously though. Please be careful. I'm working on Ron, but if you aren't careful too-"

"Hermione, honestly? I think I'm being more careful about this than I have been about anything in my entire life."

"Well, okay then," she concedes, pauses for a second. "Is Draco Malfoy calling me by my first name? With my permission?"

Harry simply offers her a weak smile.

* * *

 

Less than an hour later, they are gathered around a roaring fire, staving off the late afternoon chill that had appeared over the last few days. Wrapped in a blanket, clean, fed, and safe, Draco curls into Harry's side and tells his story.

He had begun his search for the purple ferns he wanted to bring home early that morning. He knew they were at least a 40 minute walk away, in a clearing he and Eloise had discovered while wandering around dragon nests on his first trip. He hadn't seen them before, and the ones he had brought back with him were proving far more effective in his sleeping draughts than the usual variety, imported stores from Germany. He had been excited to bring back as many as he could, especially now that he had full control over his ingredients.

He'd stopped to eat breakfast when he had reached the clearing, and then wandered around, picking the ferns, idly wondering if he could successfully bring an entire plant back. The day was gloriously sunny, and he hadn't been in a rush, until he had looked up at the sun, realized he was probably short on time, and had cast a tempus- revealing to himself that he had exactly enough time to get back in time before noon, if he legged it. So he did. He had been fine most of the time, until he had gotten distracted by the bright purple bilge berries that Neville had been searching for the day before, and decided that he had time to grab a pouch, since he had been running until now anyway.

In his haste, however, he hadn't checked the clearing for potential company. Especially not the three small blue jaculai who were crouching in the tall grass, small for dragons, no bigger than large tigers, and excellently suited for hiding from prey. For despite their name, they were largely a muddy grey-blue colour, and had a chameleon like ability to mute their colours, become more like their surroundings. For five minutes, they simply watched. They weren't really accustomed to humans, and they were unsure what to do with this one, who was humming his way around the bushes, carefully but quickly pulling ripe berries from a stubborn bush.

By the time he heard them, the three female dragons were circling him, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. He managed to draw his wand, but he knew he could not bring himself to seriously harm these creatures. They were gorgeous. The blue frill that surrounded their heads was brilliantly coloured as they stalked him. Their heads were fully arrow shaped, and their tiny stature was emphasized by the forked club on their tails, which swished back and forth as they walked. Their backs were coated with thickly translucent scales, which went between varying levels of blue-green as they undulated back to their natural colour.

Draco's first instinct was to immobilize them, but he couldn't work out how to put one down without having the other two attack. So he waited. He was increasingly aware that he was running out of time, which felt like an incredibly pointless thought. He was being stalked by three dragons. He would certainly not have enough time to get back to the cave if he was dead.

Finally, he finds an opportunity. Two of the dragons have moved closer together, breaking their full triangle formation. He's going to have to take a chance that he will be able to whirl and hit the third in time. He has been waiting with the spell in the front of his mind. It will need to be powerful, and he puts the full force of his magic behind it. He successfully stuns the first two dragons he has been aiming for, watching as they fall to their sides, frozen mid-crouch. Turning quickly, with full duel reflexes, he releases a spell, but has not calculated the change in distance that the third dragon has managed. Namely, that it has managed to close enough of the distance that it is now right in front of him. He backs up quickly, trying to put space between himself and the dragon, but falls over the rocky crest that is now behind him, collapsing in pain as he feels the bone snap, waiting for the inevitable as the dragon follows, closing in enough that it's talons catch his hip as he falls. Fear forces him to focus and he manages to throw the dragon back with an oddly used Expelliarmus, before finally managing to stun the third dragon and rolling away into the thorny grass, scraping his face in the process.

Feeling as though he is finally safe, for the time being, he uses the force of the adrenaline to cast the tracking charms they have been using the whole trip on the dragons, and thinking that he should send a Patronus forward to the cave. But at some point, the pain became too intense, and he tries to stand, fails, falls back, and is vaguely aware that he also has a very bad headache.

"Then I woke up, and you were all here. But you are telling me I _didn't_ manage to send a Patronus? That's embarrassing."

"You set the freaking tracking spells? WHY?" Neville shouts, clearly baffled at Draco's choice of priority.

"I knew how rare they were, that Harry was hoping to find one. I don't know. I was a bit of a mess. I wasn't exactly thinking right."

"You're lucky Harry bothered to come looking for you, what with you choosing tracking the dragons over telling us you were injured."

"Neville, relax. It all worked out," Sorina said, then eyed Draco sharply. "You must have hit your head when you fell over. We are lucky you woke up, what with the passing out with a concussion."

"Yes. I get it. I am quite lucky. Don't worry. I feel it. Well, okay. Mostly I feel a bit sick to my stomach, have a headache to rival the worst hangover I have ever had, and these bruises are really going to suck pretty soon. But also, I feel lucky. I swear."

"You and Harry really are well matched. He gets himself into similarly stupid scrapes with similarly deadly things all the time," Ron mutters, quiet and slightly acerbic.

Everyone stared at Ron in disbelief. He hasn't been this openly accepting of Harry and Draco's relationship up to this point. This is the first admission he has made that he even acknowledges there _is_ a relationship, and nobody's quite sure what to do. When Draco starts laughing uncontrollably, everyone relaxes slightly. Ron grins cheekily, but says nothing.

"You have no idea how accurate that is, mate," Neville adds. Soon,

they have moved on from Draco's misadventure, and everyone is exchanging stories of times they had almost died. Since they all had some pretty good ones, the stories get wilder and wilder. It feels like a normal campfire, and Harry has to admit, he is grateful. His nerves are frayed, and he is exhausted. He doesn't have the energy to share stories, so he is grateful when Ron's retelling of the Hungarian Horntail in the arena is followed up with a story of how Sorina decided to leave healing and stay in the forest, which Harry felt rivaled all of his unfortunate adventures (it involved the entire herd of Welsh Commons, and a particularly tenacious mountain cat). The stories went on until the fire died down, and Sorina checked Draco's head one more time before declaring that he needed rest, and that it was safe for him to go to sleep, shooing them all off to bed.

Harry decides that Ron will likely not hex him if he sleeps next to Draco, not tonight. He moves himself back to the other side of the cave, where Eloise is clucking and fussing over Draco, making him take an extra bed roll to cushion his bruises. Long after they are finally settled, though, Harry has not been able to even contemplate sleeping, instead just lying on his side studying the man beside him.

"Harry, I'm fine. Please go to sleep. I can't sleep with you staring at me."

"You have a tattoo? Seriously?"

"You are very good at not focusing on the relevant information. Maybe that is why you came so close to dying every year. Yes. I have tatoos. Why on earth is that so shocking?"

"I have no Idea. But it is. I am truly...shocked."

Partly, he is actually shocked. But mostly, he feels unable to deal with the fact that the tattoo is attached to a hip bone that Harry has never seen. Isn't really seeing now. Is seeing behind a pair of too loose jogging pants, hanging low because of a large bruise that is just starting to bother Draco. The hip is far more incongruous with Draco Malfoy than the tattoo. It is sharp and curved, and makes Harry feel like maybe he is unreservedly staring at it. No. At the tattoo.

"Is it an infinity symbol?"

"Nope. It's more than that. Look closer."

Harry inhales sharply, but does eventually move closer to the hip…no, to the tattoo. Sure enough, the fabric Draco has shifted lower reveals that the centre twist of the infinity symbol is actually made up of a fragile, tiny script. From far away, it looked like blocked line. The whole tattoo was pretty small, really. And all in black. The kind of tattoo one got without the intention of anyone seeing it. The kind you got to remind you, and only you, of something significant, something important.

"What does say?"

"Infragilis. It means-"

"Unbreakable. Appropriate."

"Latin? I _know_ you didn't know that in school."

Harry simply shrugged, "Spells have their base in Latin. I studied up a bit when I thought I might work in the ministry."

"Well, I am suitably impressed, so I guess it paid off. I'll tell you what, Harry. You let me get some sleep now, I will show you my...other tattoos very soon."

Harry gulped in what he was sure was a very unattractive way. "Fair deal. Are you okay to go to sleep?"

"Yes. Salazar. You heard Sorina. Please stop asking."

"I'm sorry. It's just... You really scared me today."

"I really do apologize for that."

"No, that's not what I meant. Or not why I said it, at least. I just mean. God. Words. Okay. I just mean- you know, sometimes, it can be...nice. To know someone cares enough to be scared? I know that can be a good thing. And I didn't _hate_ being the one who cared enough, even when I was scared. So, I just thought I'd...tell you."

Draco turned over slowly, his aches and pains beginning to surface, and when he faces Harry, he finds the most vulnerable face he has ever seen, on anyone, pasted on his normally impassive face. The sight makes his stomach curl, his skin tingle in appreciation.

"Thank you," he whispers, reaching out for Harry's hand. "Thank you for telling me."

Harry simply shrugs again, wanting desperately to move on from the exchange, grateful that it is likely dark enough that Draco can't see him blushing.

"In the interest of this honesty, you should know that it has been killing me that you aren't near me when I wake up. Gonna be tomorrow? I know how needy that sounds, but-"

"I'll be here."

Draco shifts closer and pulls into his side gently, avoiding his very bruised leg. He knows Harry means it, knows above all else he can trust the words, however confusing and fumbled, that Harry says. He is fine with how slow Harry seems to need to be taking things. Patience has never been his defining characteristic in anything, but especially in relationships, he tended to run hot and burn out fast. The pace Harry was asking for should have been excruciating, but instead, he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper in quicksand. He is happy, he is liking it, but he is also slightly terrified; the one thing he knows about quicksand is how hard it can be to pull oneself out.

Luckily, he is too tired right now to focus on that fear. Instead, he relishes the warmth that is Harry, the perfect curve of his hip against his own, the feeling of his breath on the back of his neck. Harry is being careful, watching bruises, and Draco can still feel every nerve ending reacting to the not-painful heat of his body. It's good. And he is asleep almost immediately.

Despite his promise, Harry sleeps very badly, continually convinced that Draco has stopped breathing. And more importantly, suddenly very aware of how much he would prefer that didn't happen.


	11. Call them flying dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff. I know, I know, I already warned you, but....ugh. Hopefully, you can forgive me ;)

_People call them Pterodactyls: but that is only because they are ashamed to call them flying dragons, after denying so long that flying dragons could exist._

―Charles Kingsley, _The Water Babies_

* * *

Once you have realized that you care about someone, two things happen. Draco hadn't really been aware of this before, and it was slightly alarming to be realizing it now. He supposes if he thinks back over his own timeline, he's never really been given the opportunity or had the inclination to really try and care. Now though, waking up to Harry's concerned smile, head in his lap, or later, watching the blush rise to his cheeks at the mere mention of promised intimacy, Draco was being forced to consider how much he cared.

Those two things that were happening were as follows; one, he was distinctly aware of how happy he was. He couldn't stop grinning stupidly when he let his mind wander, inevitably inventing situations in the future containing Harry Potter, who was not always clothed. He would have to shake himself physically to get back on task. Two, he had become instantly terrified. Terrified that, at any second, Harry will come to his senses and end things, despite the fact that Draco wants to believe Harry is just as taken as he is. Terrified, also, that something might happen to Harry if he manages to be out of Draco's sight for five minutes.

Which is why, when Eloise announces the morning after the attack that she will be taking him back to England, and to the hospital, both he and Harry end up protesting, though for very different reasons. They attempt to speak at the same time, as Sorina and Neville just stand back, amused, as though they had predicted the reaction, and are ready for it.

"I don't need to go to Hospital-"

"He's not going without me- wait, what? No, don't be stupid. Of course you need to go to hospital. You were knocked unconscious and had a bone healed magically. I'm just saying, I will go with-"

"Now who is being stupid. You can't leave before you get all the data you need. It isn't fair to Neville. He has experiments set up, and he won't have time to come back right away after he-"

"Draco," Neville interjected in a warning tone.

"What? What's going on? Wait. Have you guys had a conversation about something _without me._ I'm not angry it's just…that's progress, isn't it now?"

"We may have had a discussion about moving to a certain city to begin making a different life, starting his own business as he has always wanted to do, maybe looking up some old acquaintances."

"Wait. You let _Draco_ convince you to call Luna. Not your best friends, who have been telling you to since you finished training two years ago?"

"He provided...convincing arguments."

"Right. Point is, Eloise is taking him. You are staying here with Neville and I, finishing your research, and leaving two days from now, as scheduled," Sorina, ever impatient with their quibbled arguments finishes for him, making Eloise laugh. After a hasty goodbye, she and Draco depart.

He is fine, of course, and as he returns to his brand-new-to-him flat in Birmingham, he finds himself pacing far more than he should. For the sake of a 'mild concussion, and an expertly healed fracture', he is missing the end of the expedition, unhappily not present for conversations had with Granger and Weasley about him, and completely unable to do a thing about it.

Which all lead up to him practically leaping on Harry the second he Apparates into the street in front of his shop, dragging him upstairs to his only partially furnished apartment, and decidedly _not_ taking things slowly for even another minute.

* * *

 

The next few months remain bizarrely uneventful, and Harry can't help but wonder if this is how normal people live, falling into easy-to-control routines, where the relationships and friendships you have seem to maintain themselves, where you are fulfilled by the work you are doing, where you make progress in the best things, and let the other things just fall away.

He is able to cut his meetings with Eloise down to twice a month, and when he does see her, he mostly listens and catches up. Hears about the hilarious letters Anker keeps sending about wedding planning things; as the day quickly approaches, his demands and wishes are getting more and more bizarre.

He is successfully applying the data gained in the dragon fields to his hypothesis; it wasn't a complicated one, really. He believes Refraction Theory had nothing to do with Muggle's beliefs, as had been thought before. Based on the surveys he and Neville had started taking, there was a large variance in how much people believed in magical creatures. Yet, when people knew about magic, knew that creatures _really did_ exist, they were no more likely to spot a gnome or see a cloud of pixies than any other Muggle. Refraction Theory didn't make sense.

Instead, Harry was relatively sure that magical energy created a veil that shielded the animals from Muggle view. And he was pretty sure that they were creating it themselves, possibly on purpose. Moreover, the bigger the animal, the stronger the veil seemed to be, which may be why Muggles sometimes sensed things in the corner of their eyes, or saw more in the dusk light than they would during the day. It was all a theory so far, but he was excited, and his contacts in the Ministry seemed encouraged too.

He went back and forth to Birmingham, and things were fine. He didn't love the travel, but Draco seemed to love when he got to come to London, and he was so happy running the shop on his own, finally making changes that were proving wildly popular with his customers, Harry didn't have the heart to suggest any changes. They went on like this for six months.

There were tense double date dinners with Ron and Hermione, and Ginny wasn't currently speaking to him. Neville _had_ called Luna, and they were on tentative terms, somewhere in the fuzzy area between dating and not. One ill-advised group date had ended with Luna scolding Ron for saying something nasty about Slytherin after one too many, cementing her as an ally in 'the cause'. Ron was coming around, really, but years and years of hard-going displeasure were difficult to overcome, and Draco was being bizarrely patient.

Still. He was happy. He loved routine. Routine was awesome. Part of this routine was waking up excessively early at weekends, much to Draco's displeasure. So, the day before Hector and Anker's wedding, when he wakes up stupidly early as usual, he plans to go for a run through the magic quarter of Birmingham, which he is starting to know quite well. It is an excellent plan. Until he hears it.

He collapses unhappily back against the bed, his run plan spoiled. From the sounds of things, it has decided to right and properly rain today. Not the half-assed drizzle it has been trying on for days. Harry sighed in frustration; indoors all day was not his thing. The rain always made him feel trapped.

Yet Draco, uncharacteristically awake already, lay beside him, looking up at the ceiling with an oddly serene look on his face.

"What are you so happy about? Listen. It's miserable."

"What are you so _miserable_ about. Listen! It's beautiful. That sound means tea and reading in bed. Bacon sandwiches. Maybe if we are lucky, it will thunder. I love rainy days. They are so...pregnant with possibility."

"Pregnant with possibility?"

"Shut up. I'm serious. I just mean, you can do all sorts of things you're not meant to do. Don't worry. I know, you're a mess, you never had the chance to learn to love rain. You probably got sent out and told to keep the garden dry or something. Those people," Draco's contempt for the Dursley's was enticing and very endearing, and it often led to odd, yet vehement statements. Today was no different. "Don't worry, dear. I'll teach you rain days."

Draco leapt up suddenly and threw open the curtains before jumping back into bed and snuggling down into the covers against Harry's chest, sighing contentedly.

"See? Gray, windy, disgusting. HOW Is that a good thing?"

"Shhh. Just listen."

So Harry shushes. Instead, he looks around at Draco's apartment. He really loves it here. Draco has found an old wrought iron bed frame, painted the walls light green, and kept it light and airy, but with dark, exposed-wood ceiling beams. The second floor is one giant room, all the furniture at one end, the bathroom door to one side, large bay windows at the other, only interrupted by the spiral staircase leading downstairs. The main floor looks much the same, one large room with the kitchen appliances and island at one end, but Draco has created an eating space and a living space at the other end, with the dining room table tucked behind the stairs leading down to the shop. The whole place is very Draco; tastefully, though not elaborately decorated. Full of old books and shelves of potion ingredients, comfy couches and a weirdly shaped chair that he insisted had been a gift, but was definitely the most comfortable thing in the entire world. He's been staring at the wall, and he looks down at the top of Draco's blond, feathery head and voices his thoughts; apparently, that was one of his goals. Or something.

"I really love it here. This apartment. It's so perfect."

Draco tilts his head briefly, meets his eyes long enough to scoff, and looks back at the window, "Yes. It's 'perfect'. I haven't even got a full sized fridge. There's not enough room for another sofa, or guests. You've got Grimmauld, I get it, you don't have to try and make me feel better."

"No, D. I'm serious. I really like it here. I hate that house."

"What?!"

"What? I've always hated it. It has a bad…aura. Bad things have always happened there. It's huge and foreboding. No matter how many times you _wainscot_ the walls. It's awful. And there are too many rooms. I found another one last week, did I tell you? It just appeared, like it had been tired of playing hide and seek. Seriously. I should sell it."

"Ha. Right. And live where?"

Harry gulped. This had been his intention when he had started the conversation, but now that they were there….Still. Gryffindor. "Well, I was, um, sort of thinking…here?"

Draco looked up, but didn't respond right away.

"I mean," Harry continued. "I don't have to live _here_ here right away, but I want to leave London, I've meant to for a while now. I don't really like it there, and none of my people are there anyway, and it just makes more sense that if I'm going to move, I move here, doesn't it? We haven't really discussed anything, or whatever, but I'm here every weekend as it is, and if I live in Birmingham, I could see you during the week, and it would be really great if you would stop me anytime, because I'm sort of digging myself a pit and I am running out of breath…"

Draco looked around the room. "Wait, you seriously 'love it' here. _Here._ This flat. With its creaky pipes and drafty windows. You would live _here._ "

"No Draco. I _want_ to live here."

Draco opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but instead, thunder punctuated his sentence outside and the wind picked up throwing a twig against the window. He looked back outside instead, took a deep breath, and said, "Okay."

"Sorry, what?"

"Okay. But don't sell the London house. It's unplottable anyway. The deed transfer and the ward removal would be a nightmare. You'll lose money in the sale. Just keep it. We can use it as a London house. All our friends can too. We'll make a schedule. I'll go make tea."

Harry had thought that the conversation was going to be a difficult one with a difficult man. All he had discovered was that he still had zero comprehension of Draco's emotions. When he returns with tea, bacon sandwiches, and the prophet, Harry gratefully accepts the sports section as Draco settles into the crossword, and says nothing.

"Eleven letter word for 'Magic of miracles'."

"Thaumaturgy. Oddly appropriate."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Huh. Fits. Seriously, how do you know stuff like that? Never thought you were the clever one."

"Dunno. Hermione. Osmosis. We could add a floor, you know."

"What?"

Harry has been idly doodling on the newspaper, but he is pretty sure he has come up with a viable plan, "I dunno. I think it's fine, but you want a bigger place. You always say it. I like it here though, and it's good with the shop."

"Thank you for summarizing my problem. What are you on about, Hare?"

"I think we could expand more. We could put an extension out back while we are at it, give you an extra store room. The garden is crap anyway, you don't use it. We could add a third floor, make this a study or a lounge or something. Build a bar space downstairs so you have somewhere for guests. We could even throw a guest bedroom on this floor as well. It's big enough if we expand backward."

He shows Draco his doodle. Who says nothing for a long minute.

"That's a lot of work."

"What have you got on? I'll do as much as I can. I'll get help. It'll be great. What's really bugging you? If you bring up cost, I swear I will punch you."

Draco just looked at his hands dubiously.

"We have been over this. Money. Is. Pointless. I have money. It sits around being useless. And I was miserable, dying slowly, depressed, alone. You didn't have money anymore, and you made yourself a life. I don't need the money. I need the life. Let me use the money to build the life. With you."

"And if something happens? If it doesn't keep working? If I piss you off for the last time and you come to your senses, then what?"

"Then you will have a very nice new flat. And I will continue to have money, because it's really not…an issue."

"A flat I can't live in because I can't bear to be here when you paid for it."

"So you sell it and live in a very nice hole in the ground. Come on, Draco. Really."

"You just really don't care do you? I can't tell if it's because you are good, or if it because you are just that stupid rich."

"Your family was stupid rich. Didn't make them good."

"Normally, I think that would have pissed me off, but it's raining and I have tea. So, instead, fair point. Can we stick with 'you move in' for now, and go with 'major flat renovations' another time?"

"Yes. Stupid Harry Potter. Not smart enough to take the win."

"I'm always saying."

* * *

 

So with the decision of Harry moving in all but made, they go to the wedding. It really is a fantastic wedding, not that Harry has much to go off of. His only wedding experience thus far being Bill and Fleur's wedding, which had been a) his birthday, and b) crashed by Death Eaters. By all accounts, Hector and Anker's wedding was a huge improvement. The ceremony was beautiful, even Harry could see that. There were tears and love and haunting chant singers as they left.

Harry watched in amusement, laughing sporadically as Eloise and Draco swept across the dance floor, taking up so much space, being so alive. When Eloise tried to teach Draco a new Muggle dance move called 'twerking', he nearly spit his drink on the witch in front of him. He kept refusing to dance, and luckily, there was enough liquid encouragement flowing through Draco that he didn't object, because he didn't stop moving long enough to care. The second a new song was on, he would disappear back to the floor.

He wandered around, chatting with the few people he knew, enduring a few awkward fame-driven photos, had an entire fourteen minutes of conversation with Viktor Krum (which had to be some kind of record), and then made his way back to his table. Where he found Eloise and Draco giggling away about something.

"'Arry! Draco, je l'ai trouvé!" Eloise slurred, proving just how much fun she had been having.

"AH! Bravo, Ellie! Bravo!"

"Draco, you do realize you are not actually speaking French?" Harry smiled, bemused.

"QUOI? Je parle parfaitement français!"

"Oui, c'est vrai!"

"Okay. I think it may be time to go home. Ellie...er, Eloise, are you still staying with us?"

"Ah, OUI! Garçon!"

"That would be me, lovely. There is no, erm, garçon."

He looped his arm through Draco's, then through Eloise's, and wandered out of the hall and towards the floo exit that they had seen earlier. He wasn't nearly in the same state as the other two, but he figured it was still not a great idea to try and side-along two people who were only barely moving on their own power. Especially when Draco kept draping himself over Harry and nipping at his ear.

"Draco. You need to...pause that. Please. It's making it very difficult to move. Do you think you can say your shop name clearly enough to get home? Can Eloise?"

"Harry."

"Draco?"

"I love you."

"Darling, you are drunk. I...it's not really a pressing issue."

"Is too. I love you. Je t'aime. Te amo. Tu, ego amare. And I may be out of languages. And things are sort of...spinny. Okay. Seeing point, one for Harry. Home. Yes. HOME!"

Harry wasn't really confident in his knowledge of floo networking, so he hoped that the fact that all Draco had yelled was home wasn't going to mean spending the rest of the wee hours of the morning searching for him, or worse, calling Aurors. He looked at Eloise.

"Je peux le faire, Harry. You worry. So much worry. DRACO'S FLAT."

Harry simply sighed and followed, shouting the actual shop name into the floo, as he had been instructed by Draco to do, and was relieved when he stumbled out of the hearth and almost directly onto Eloise and Draco, both crashed out on the floor, giggling. He managed to get Eloise installed on the couch, and convinced Draco to go upstairs and into bed, still in his shoes, but still.

"Really do love you Harry."

"I don't want to say this now. I'm not sure you'll remember."

Draco's eyes flew open with the most hysterically earnest expression, "Yes. I will. Promise."

"Okay. Well, for the record, and the record only, I love you too. You're hilarious, and so beyond what I expected. But I do. I love you."


	12. 'Here Be Dragons' is better than nothing

_Putting 'Hy-Brasil' on the map is a step in the right direction, but if you can't manage that, then 'Here Be Dragons' is better than nothing. Better than the void."_

―Terry Pratchett

* * *

Draco woke up way too early, and instantly regretted that decision. His mouth shoved with cotton, his head in confusingly spinning patterns of pain, and his stomach protesting the mere act of turning to his side. Fortunately, he seemed to be in his own bed. And he was at least ninety percent sure that the fuzzy, disheveled hair beside him belonged to Harry. Things, he decided, could be a lot worse. Especially since he remembered exactly none of what had happened the day before, at least after the end of the ceremony and the first half of dinner.

Convincing himself that he needed to get up and make coffee, at least, and possibly shower, and definitely see if he had any valerian to make a pepper-up, he rolled back to the other side of the bed, and very carefully sat up. And almost immediately, regretted that too.

"How did that go?" came a muffled, amused voice, presumably Harry's, having turned around and talking half into his pillow.

Presumably, because he sure as hell was not going to waste the energy it was going to take to turn his head. Harry simply laughed.

"There's a hangover potion right there. Eloise had them in her hand bag. She handed me one right before passing out last night. I wouldn't drink it all, because she will go spare if she's given you the only one. You two were in approximately the same state last night. Take half, I'll take her the rest while you shower. I'll make tea and a fry-up?"

"I hate you so much for being okay right now. And for thinking this is hilarious." He wanted very badly to fix Harry with a patented stare, but it was going to have to wait. He was pretty sure he would throw up if he moved his head too much.

He took the potion Harry had held out to him, drank half, and closed his eyes as the unpleasantness of the Hangover tonic took over. There were things they did not warn you about when you first started using the frigging things. One, they tasted like snake piss (or what he imagined snake piss might taste like). Two, the potion only helped dull all the sensations that were making you feel like death. You generally still felt like death afterward, but could, occasionally, move throughout your day. And three, it felt like someone reaching into your stomach and ripping out the poison you had placed there through every limb in your body. He supposes it shouldn't be pleasant to take a potion that helped you stop regretting your decisions; wizards hardly needed more alcoholics in their midst. Still, he figures he should play around with the potions at some point. It couldn't possibly be necessary to have them be _this_ bad.

He showers, and although he begins to feel slightly more human than before, he also is, regrettably, starting to remember bits and pieces from the night before. Mostly, he remembers dancing. A lot. With Eloise, and Hector, and possibly with Hector's sort-of-gorgeous brother? He doesn't remember that he has any reason to feel guilty about that…but, what he does remember is going home. And he isn't sure that his memories are sound. Somehow, he wishes they weren't. And yet, deep down, knows that they are. He cowers in his bedroom for a while until he hears Harry start speaking to Ellie. Clearly, she is feeling a bit less horrible. She probably had woken up feeling less horrible. Unfairly, he bets that indeterminable grace that she used in everything she did had saved her from her own life choices. Finally, he forces himself to descend the stairs. Slowly. Things are still a bit…spinny.

"Feeling better?" Harry's cheeky grin is definitely not welcome, and now that he is feeling better, Draco glares at him fully before replying.

"Much."

"Good. Food?"

"Please. Tea?"

"On the table by Eloise."

He takes an excruciatingly long time to make tea, trying to delay looking at Eloise, or Harry for that matter. He hates the morning after feeling. The knowledge that you have made a fool of yourself, the pain of having to deal with the full weight of your decisions, possibly for days as you continue to run into people who saw you. It is why he rarely drank to excess, even back when he had gone out more.

"So, Draco," Eloise began, smirking at him. "How much do _you_ remember?"

"Well, Ellie, I remember the wedding…and I remember, er, coming home. Did we floo? Okay, so I remember parts of coming home. You?"

"I, mon chere, remember _everything._ I remember you thinking you were speaking French. And dancing. And, I remember-"

"Ellie, please. This is me begging you. Which I don't do lightly."

"Okay, fine. But you know he wasn't really drinking, right? _He_ remembers. You will have to talk."

"I know…"

"Harry, darling."

"One sec, I am bringing you food."

"And for that, I will _love_ you eternally," Eloise grinned devilishly at Draco, who coloured significantly and glared back at her.

"Harry," she continued. "Last night made me think of something. Has Draco ever told you the story of how he realized he was gay?"

"Huh, you know, I don't think he has!"

"Seriously, Draco? You are so open about that story. It's a good one. You must have told him."

Draco just shrugged, "It never came up."

Harry had wandered over to the couch carrying plates, waiter style, crammed with very specific full-Englishes for the three of them; bacon instead of sausage for Ellie, no tomatoes and salmon on the eggs for Draco, extra beans on toast for himself. Draco's heart swelled at the simplicity of the thought Harry had put into this, the care through food instead of words, so much a part of Harry's character. The blush he had just managed to dispel returned in full force.

"I demand the comfy chair for getting your drunk arses home last night. Comfy chair or no breakfast," Harry said while standing over Draco pointedly holding his breakfast just out of reach.

"Fair cop," Draco said, acquiescing the chair, snagging his breakfast, and settling down on top of Ellie's feet. "Priority one, once you move in here, is finding a bigger couch. We should have enough space for people to sit."

"Moving in?" Eloise said through her first bite of food.

"Harry and I were talking about it yesterday. Nothing is decided yet."

"Awesome. It's a good plan. Don't change the subject. Tell him the story."

"Ya, tell me the story. My story is boring. It's not even a story."

"Sure it is. There are dragons involved. Mine's not exciting either."

"Nope, not dropping it. Spill," Harry shoved a large bite of beans and toast in his mouth and waited.

Draco was seeing no way out of this one.

"It was my cousins wedding. Summer between Fifth year and Sixth year. There were….all my cousins and their friends were there, and things were really tense in my house at the time, for reasons I'm sure you can guess. I guess I just got a bit carried away, dancing and joking around. Then, someone had a bottle of fire whiskey, because someone _always_ has a bottle of fire whiskey, and I got a bit carried away with that too. We were playing games, and somehow, though no one has ever quite explained to me exactly how, I ended up making out with my cousin's boyfriend. And…"

"And?"

"And, well, later, I sort of ended up taking him home…The worst part was that my cousin wasn't actually angry? I guess she had been planning on breaking up with him anyway. Somehow, she wasn't convinced he was being completely honest with her about something. She has always been quite the intuitive one. Instead of being angry, she just kept asking 'does this mean you're gay?', as though that was the important part."

Harry snorted, "Sounds quite familiar, actually. Did you ever see the bloke again?"

"Harry. They dated for a year," Eloise looked at Draco with irritation, clearly unimpressed that Draco had not explained this whole story.

"What? Seriously? How did I not know that? I thought you had told me about everyone…we did have that conversation, did we not?"

"Yes. But….well, Harry, think about sixth year. What do you remember about me from that year?"

Harry visibly paled.

"Exactly. We had a few things going on that year that were…less than pleasant. Eric- that's his name- wasn't at school anymore. I never told him what was happening to me. The few times he visited late in the year, I was such a mess, I would just cling to him and cry. There's only so much unexplained crying a man can take. He broke up with me right before…."

"Right before I cursed you. You were in the bathroom for a reason."

"Don't. We aren't doing the blame thing. I already told you- I forgave you a long time ago for that curse. You were well within your rights. The point is, I hardly needed to be attempting to maintain a boyfriend."

"Do you...have you seen him?"

"He died in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Draco, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He wasn't on the right side in the end."

"Still though. We know how hard it was to work out the truth."

"Harry, lose the nobility. He was an asshole. I've had better boyfriends. My taste has improved significantly. At least, that is what I have been led to believe. Why are we talking about this again, especially right now?"

They both glared at Eloise, who shrugged innocently and shoved bacon in her mouth.

"No, I suppose you're right. We should move on to more important conversations. Like how forthcoming you decided to be last night."

"Harry-"

"He remembers what he said, I think," Eloise said, gesturing at Harry with her last bite of bacon.

"I knew he would," Harry said, grinning. "He was very clear about that last night. He was clear about little else, actually. Just kept repeating 'I promise I will remember'. But do you remember me saying anything?"

"I dunno...even the memory I do have is fuzzy. But seriously, Harry-"

"That's inconvenient. Especially if you are about to tell me that you didn't mean it. That it was just because you were drunk. Because I meant what I said. I'm not really worried about you embarrassing either of us. I just thought you should know."

"Well…okay then. I think."

"More than that, no? But yes. Okay."

The monumental moment of both of them realizing they had consciously said 'I love you' passed by in quite a boring way, hungover, with tea and bacon. But then, Harry can't really figure out exactly why saying 'I love you' had become such a monumental thing anyway. Loving someone was not a bad thing. Loving someone was actually quite wonderful. When, he wondered, had it started being taboo to be the one to say it first. When had they stopped ending conversations, with bye, I love you, stay safe. There had to have been a time when the words hadn't been quite so large, so bloated with meaning that people lived in fear of saying them. Wasn't there? Maybe not. Maybe humanity had emerged fully formed, afraid of commitment, of appearing to care too much.

He resolved, right here, squashed into the comfy chair, to tell people he loved them more often. Even if it made him a bit strange. He'd had enough of not knowing whether or not people actually cared about him. It had been a life time of being only half-cared for, being given half-truths and half-heartaches. He wasn't playing their game any longer. He wishes he had told Dumbledore, for example. That he had been like a father. That he cared about him. It may not have been appropriate, but thinking now, he isn't sure it was worth it to care about that. Dumbledore had died without knowing; or, if he did know, it was through a veil of Harry's teenage angst and anger, through mistrust and confusing, partly given secrets. No more.

"Eloise, I…I love you too, you know."

"Though hopefully not in quite the same way, uh? I love you too Harry. Which is why I am passing you on, to my friend Georgie. Especially since you are going to be living here in Birmingham, and with Draco. She is just around the corner, and it really isn't really appropriate for me to continue your sessions."

"Likely no. Sounds like a plan to me."

* * *

 

And that was that. In one weekend, Harry's entire world ended up flipped and turned once again. He enjoyed this feeling. it was how he had always thrived. Constant change was thrilling. He was not one of those people who feared change. He packed up the few things from the house that he actually needed, actually used; his clothes, his guitar, his quidditch gear, his books. The photo album from Hagrid. His snitch mug from Hermione, which said 'I'm a catch' and held a godly amount of tea. His old school trunk. Everything else- the awful, cold, and lifeless furniture, the tasteful art and the utilitarian kitchen gear- he left behind.

Those first weeks, he and Draco actually fought a lot. It was difficult to suddenly meld his life with someone else's, sharing space and adjusting to someone else's routine. Draco did better than Harry. He figured it was because, whatever they ended up being, Draco had once had an actual family who had gotten a long at least in a perverted, terrifying way. He knew how to live his life caring for and about others.

Harry, however, was a self-preservationist. He had always had to defend himself, guard against pain and fear and hate and hurt. He lived entirely in this way. He didn't like to move things around very often, in case he had to leave quickly. He hated sharing food, and he woke up very often. The caution that punctuated his every mood got on Draco's nerves. And he couldn't work out how to stop it, or how to stop letting it annoy Draco.

One night, after a squabble about something pointless, Draco sighed in exasperation, and then hit the nail on the head.

"Harry, I just want to make you feel safe. _That's_ why I keep getting so annoyed, why I keep annoying you. You never relax, you keep getting your hackles up, on guard, alert. But you do realize that you are safe, right? I don't take people in very often. Have you seen that? I don't let people in lightly. You though. You keep making me drop my guard. It's unnerving. Let this be home for you. Okay? No one is going to take anything from you. No one is going to attack you in your sleep. I will put up a thousand wards if it will make you feel better. I will set alarms. You are in charge of your life now; you have money to feed yourself, you can have whatever you want. It's okay. We are okay. You. Are. Okay. What can I do to convince you?"

Harry had crossed the room in short steps, and kissed Draco. "I think I'm going to be just fine. I may not always remember, but I'm going to try. You don't have to do anything else, Draco. You already saved me."

Things got better slowly, in drips and drabs. Harry rented a small office on the high street of the wizard quarter, overlooking Highgate Park. He kept a tight and regular schedule, and slowly started meeting people in the area. Some of these people were Draco's friends, who were only slightly surprised when they realized who he was. It was nice being Draco's boyfriend first, Harry Potter second. He started enjoying Draco's dinner parties and drinks evenings, and the new apartment seemed to mean that Draco's social side could be unleashed. His slight increase in income as a result of not paying rent and bringing in new customers means he can justify more of a social life. This, coupled with Harry slipping money or slightly pricier things into the apartment has made Draco an adorable combination of happy and embarrassed, and Harry decides he actually is going to be just fine.

Three months later, Harry finally felt like he was ready to start working on the flat, and although Draco is not quite as convinced, he begins work on the kitchen. With the help of Ron and Bill, and a handful of Bill's friends, work is slow but steady, and he feels confident that he will turn the flat into what he is imagining.

Draco is happy. He has never been this happy. It's stupid. He feels ridiculous. He can't help it. His temper remains, and he still snaps at the young student he has taken under his wing in the Apothecary, but he is still ridiculously happy. Quitting the ministry job, fixing the problems with the store, and Harry; all these things have significantly improved his life. He is loving having parties, and feels like, ludicrously, he is partly showing Harry off, to the overwhelming approval of his Birmingham friends. Harry's hilarious adoration of Muggle activities mean that he knows the city better in just three months of Harry dragging him around at weekends, than he did after five years of half-living in Birmingham; he even goes to a summer festival, for Merlin's sake.

It was pretty glorious. None of the little things that seemed to really trip up Harry were worrying Draco at all. Partly, yes, because he is not quite as emotional and maladjusted as Harry, but largely because he is in this for the long haul. Not that he has mentioned this to Harry. That would be an excellent way to scare him off. But Draco is sure. So sure. He doesn't want his life to change for a good long time. He doesn't have any real goals anymore. He's just too happy.

* * *

 

The day he screwed everything up had started as a normal Wednesday morning. He woke to the muffled sound of Harry hammering beneath a Muffulato. It was interesting how much they had tested the effectiveness of that spell this past month. Hammering, apparently, ended up sounding slightly like a cat padding on the floor. Not unpleasant, but definitely not silent either.

When Draco wandered downstairs fifteen minutes later, he was distressed to discover that Weasley was in his kitchen. Since he was just as sour in facial expression when he saw him, Draco figured that the red headed idiot was no more excited that he was having to share space. He felt lucky that he had to open the shop in half an hour, and that he wouldn't have to put up with Ron for long.

Leave it to a Weasley to ruin even half an hour of resolve.

"Weasley."

"Malfoy."

"Seriously. You two," Harry sighed an exasperated sigh, but said nothing further. "Morning."

Draco wandered over and pointedly wrapped himself around Harry's back, and smiled as he felt Ron look away from their morning kiss. If he was going to be a git no matter what, Draco was going to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

"You realize that it looks _worse_ every time I come down here, and I become less and less convinced that you know what you are doing and going to fix my… _our_ kitchen."

"You know we know what we are doing. I did the house myself. Stop being ridiculous, and either make me some coffee or pick up a hammer."

The words may have been clipped, but it was difficult for Harry to actually sound angry with Draco slung across his shoulders, hips pulled tight, head resting on his shoulders.

"I choose coffee," Draco replied, nuzzling Harry's neck one final time before releasing him.

"Shocker, that."

Normal morning. Nothing extraordinary. That is, until twenty minutes later, when idle chat turned to arguing with Ron, about what, he can't remember now. But the conversation quickly devolved into slung insults, wands drawn (though not actually used), and Harry attempting to mediate in the middle. The problem, as far as Draco could figure, was that he and Harry had worked through most of their many past issues, traded information so detailed that neither could really fail to see the other's point of view, and realized how often they had both been forced into their disagreements against their will or knowledge.

Despite this fact, though, he hadn't actually done that with any of Harry's friends, who needed just as much explanation, if not more (he could likely write a novel in order to apologize to Granger). And, he figured, he was going to have to do just that if he was going to have them in his flat with shocking regularity.

Especially if those visits were going to keep ending like this.

You see, the fight had stayed relatively non-threatening. Until some quip that he had made about Weasley had led to the sentence "just like your father" coming from the asses mouth. So, Draco had hit him. Square in the face.

Draco wasn't really sure why he had chosen physical violence. It really wasn't in his nature, and he had been holding his wand. But, he supposed, there are moments in your life where no matter what else happens, humans boil down to their base, animalistic responses. And this moment, this one where a man-- who did not know him, whose only connection to his life was through half-stories from school, and now Harry-- had compared him to the only person for whom he still harboured true hatred, it was one of those moments.

Swinging back and hitting someone in the face only takes a few seconds. But when it actually happens, or at least, when it had happened to Draco, time had slowed down. Frozen, almost. He felt every muscle in his arm tense, felt the impact of someone's face beneath his hand, felt his hand protest the sudden pain, and watched in slow motion as Ron stumbled back, not expecting the blow and unable to respond appropriately.

When he came back to himself, he realized fully and instantly what he had done, and how bad it was about to be for him.


	13. Safe Harbour

_"I will provide a safe harbour...You need a place to fall apart. I will be that place, should you require it. In perpetuity."_

\- Richard Webber, Grey's Anatomy.

A departure from the dragons for a moment of beautiful words. May we all find a safe harbour.

* * *

Harry stood there for a second waiting to see what Ron would do. He let out a breath of relief when Ron simply turned full circle and stormed down the stairs, slamming the door and heading into the street. There had been a fifty-fifty chance that Ron would fight back. He had grown up with five older brothers; the reaction he chose depended entirely on how he felt in the moment, what he decided the odds were. He turned to look at Draco, who had not moved, whose face reflected perfect blankness, but whose hand was looking unhappy.

"Draco, what the- no never mind, I will…I have to go after him. Seriously- what the fuck was that."

He didn't wait for Draco to figure out his next move, or even that he _could_ move, he just walked out the door and followed Ron's bouncing red head down the quickly filling street.

"Ron! Wait. Please!"

Ron spun around, still holding his nose, though as far as Harry could tell, it was actually fine. Draco wasn't exactly a big guy, despite his height, and he didn't normally go around punching people. Harry was actually confident it may have only been the third or fourth time Draco had hit someone with his hands instead of his wand. He definitely hadn't broken anything. Having taken plenty of beatings from Dudley in his time, Harry knew that most of the pain in a one-sided fight came from the embarrassment.

"What do you _want_? It's fine. I'm going home. Go back to him. It's fine. I'm…I'm sorry."

"What? Wait. Seriously, you think I'm mad at _you_? You should be angry at me. Why aren't you fuming, and yelling, and like, punching me and stuff?"

"I want to. Believe me. But apparently, Hermione believes that is…'a negative reaction to an unavoidable, positive event'. Or something. I don't know. Besides which," Ron paused and visibly gathered himself. "I think this one may have been my fault. I think I started it."

"That is...surprisingly introspective for you, actually. Love you mate, but humility is not your strong point."

"Harry."

Ron dropped his hand, showing the fact that there was actually blood on his face, though the flow had clearly stopped. "Are you sure. About Draco? I mean, sure like Neville and Luna sure? I just. I feel like I have to ask."

"Yes."

"That's all?"

"It was a pretty yes or no question. And it's a yes. Can you forgive me?"

"He's not the same, is he? I mean, I realized that just now. He got angry because I said he was like his father."

"Ya, that's sort of a trigger."

"Okay. So. Okay. I'm going to go back there. You know, in a minute. I'll apologize."

"Ron.…"

"No, seriously. I need to grow up I think. 'Mione kept saying it, when you decided to move in with him, but I didn't really understand what she meant? But I think I just figured it out. And if you love him, it means I will have to get over myself, right? Since, you know, I managed to get over Voldamort's attempt to come between us, it seems like it'd be really stupid to let Draco Malfoy destroy our friendship. Especially when you are clearly so much happier. Than before. I said it before, but then I didn't actually try, at all, did I?"

"Ron.…"

"You're welcome, mate. Not that you really owe me the thanks you aren't saying right now. I'm your…well, I'm your brother, really. He treats you well. I have to get over the past. You both seem to have been able to, so I guess it's time for me to figure out what you see in him. I'm bloody building the flat you both live in, for Merlin's sake. I don't know why it took taking one to the nose to sort that one out."

"Well, you've always been a bit slow."

"Oh, shut it. So what, we going back there? I kind of want some of that coffee he makes. It's sort of amazing."

"Nah. I'm going to let him stew for a bit. He thinks he gets away with this shit, and I'm sick of it. I'm allowed to have people. He needs to get used to my people, _without_ looking like he ate a lemon every time he sees one of them. Let's go get lunch."

And so they did. And by the time they finished, an hour later, they had a plan. Harry didn't love the plan, but Ron did, and he couldn't deny that it was going to be…effective. If a bit macabre and more than a little cruel. He thinks he may owe Ron this one, and Hermione too frankly. For whatever else had happened, Ron was actually trying.

"So, I will go get Hermione. And plenty of wine. We are going to need wine. I'll owl Nev and Luna too, see if they can't make it down for the evening. They should probably be there. No Eloise, okay? I don't really think we need the therapist's opinion on this."

Harry simply nodded, and Ron Disapperated. He figured it was time to go home.

* * *

 

Draco did in fact stew, quite effectively. Initially, he had gone to open the shop, but he had quickly realized that he should not be anywhere near complex potions, and had left his student in charge, returning upstairs, pacing instead. Harry seemed to be rubbing off on him. He wasn't usually a pacer, but today, he couldn't seem to sit down and stay sitting. Then again, he didn't normally go around punching the faces of his boyfriend's best mate either, so maybe it was a day for out-of-character action.

Harry had been gone for a long time. He hadn't said anything to him before he left. Draco wasn't sure what that meant, and he wasn't even entirely sure that Harry was coming back. He didn't know what Harry's reaction to betrayal would be. Somewhere around the third hour post-punch, Draco began speaking out loud to the apartment, begging empty walls and spiritual bodies he didn't believe in, begging them to just bring him home. He was sure he sounded crazy, but he couldn't sit in the silence anymore. He was just beginning to run out of bargaining chips when he remembered Harry's least favourite chore.

"I swear, if you make him come home, I'll do all the dishes. All of them, in perpetuity."

"Well," Harry stood at the top of the stairs, paused and watching him. "Careful, love, I may just take you up on that one."

Draco, who had been in motion for the better part of two hours, suddenly found himself frozen in space.

Harry came up the final step and crossed the room, catching Draco by the arms and kissing him lightly, trying to calm him down. "It's fine. You can breathe now. I know you didn't mean it. Ron actually seems to believe it was his fault."

"I'm still so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I haven't hit anyone since I was about ten. I…" Draco turned his head away from Harry's gaze, but forced himself not to step out of his grasp. Vulnerability and admissions were not something he enjoyed. Still, his begging had been answered by the apartment gods, and he owed them penitence. "I thought you weren't coming home."

"What, and leave you with the flat, to enjoy all of my hard work? I don't think so. You're sort of stuck with me, mate. I am way too attached to this kitchen I built. Although, we are going to have to work on how you treat my friends."

"Not your mate," Draco smirked. It was a weak joke, but the throwback to their first meeting broke some of the tension in his shoulders. "I…thank you for coming home. I promise, I will work on it. The friend thing."

"Well, here's the thing. Ron, he sort of has a…plan. You aren't going to like it. But I'm immediately pulling the 'you punched my best friend' card, and begging you to just go along with it. Tonight."

Draco looked back at Harry's face, at the apology already written there, and shuddered. Whatever this plan was, he was fairly certain it was going to be painful, in some way or another.

"Okay," he murmured, nodding vigorously. "For the record, being stuck with you is definitely the best case scenario, out of all the things I thought would happen when you came back. I am perfectly fine being stuck with you."

"Well good. Now help me clean this place up. We've got company coming tonight."

Draco groaned, then dragged all the cleaning supplies out of the cupboard and went to work, whistling some inane tune out of pure relief.

* * *

 

Ron arrived a few hours later, with more people in tow than had been originally planned. Hermione had called Dean and Ginny, and Seamus had been visiting Dean, so he was now sitting on the living room floor (they still hadn't gotten around to buying a new couch). Luna and Nev had shown up a short time later, prompting Hermione to transfigure some simple chairs from the pails of paint that were lying around. Even if they hadn't been crammed into a space currently under renovation, it would have been too many people for the room. Harry was intimidated, and _he_ wasn't even the one they were here to see.

Draco was cowering in their bedroom, pacing again and being, generally, a giant baby. Harry stood at the top of the stairs, trying to coax him into coming down.

"They are not going to physically hurt you, you know."

"My lounge is full of Gryffindors. There is no way for that to be a good thing."

"Technically, Luna is a Ravenclaw."

"Oh yes, so much better. Can you explain this thing to me one more time?"

The plan was simple, though it had the potential to end very badly. Draco had never stood trial during the war. He had never been required to be present at an inquiry, never had to tell his side of events in public. The people in the sitting room had all endured month after month of inquests, re-lived the terror of the Battle, watched their friends die over and over again in pensive memories, faced the people who had caused them pain. Harry had been a mess after those trials. Ron felt it was unfair, and he also believed that it was part of the problem; he didn't know Draco's version of events, and Draco had never had to deal with the external humiliation. Harry didn't really understand his point, since he felt like Draco had had quite enough to deal with over the years, but Ron's sense of judgement had always been extremely black and white.

He wanted to put Draco through an inquiry. In their living room. A kind of Kangaroo Court, with rules and regulations, veto power on Draco's part, and apologies from both sides. He wanted an official, formal conversation, an explanation where Draco could not be evasive. And apparently, this was how he and Draco were going to get over their issues. Harry was skeptical, but based on the events of that morning, he was willing to try anything that Ron believed would work.

Draco is less convinced. Understandably, since he was the one who would be in the spotlight.

"Draco, it's just some questions."

"Questions about a war where they think I was on the other side. From people who I always treated like shit."

"Yup. Let's go. Time to face the firing squad. You're just delaying the pain. And Ron has wine."

"Yes, because alcohol is the way to make sure cool heads prevail."

Nonetheless, he follows Harry down the stairs and sits in the chair that is clearly set apart from the others in the room that Hermione has reconfigured. Harry gratefully accepts a glass from Luna, and smiles weakly when she grips his arm.

Three hours later, almost everyone has cried at least once. The conversation has heated to the point of anger three times, and Ron has needed to leave the room twice. Hermione is, predictably, the calmest of them all, and Luna just keeps muttering, "I told you, we can all forgive him. He actually saved our lives more than once." Harry has stopped being able to help, although he has, as the wine continues to manage its way into his rapidly empting glass, lost the plot a few times. Once, he looked back up from studying the fraying carpet to find Draco's head in his hands, quietly crying and trying to collect himself. His not-so-sober brain went into immediate problem solving mode and he tried to go to his side, until Luna grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

"You promised not to interfere, dear. He's going to be okay."

But it is nearing midnight, and nerves are frayed. Suddenly, Ron looks up and stops everyone with his hand.

"I think maybe one last question," he says, pausing to see if there is any disagreement. When everyone nods, he looks Draco straight in the eye. "I just want to know. How can you expect us to believe you? That you have gone from hating Harry, to loving him?"

"Mr. Weasley," Draco stopped.

He took a deep breath, and stopped looking at Ron. That was not working. He turned to Harry instead, locked eyes with him, the piercing green slightly muted by multiple glasses of wine. Harry smiled a sad smile, but didn't break the contact, as though sensing that he was all that was keeping Draco grounded. Calmer, he started again.

"There are times in life when we should hold firm to our beliefs. When we should stand our ground and keep fast. There are times when we should face those who deny our reality and truths, and fight for the things we believe instead. Our convictions are taught to us by those that raise us, whoever they may be. I didn't win the lottery in that department, and neither did Harry."  
  
He took a deep breath. He was going to get through this if it killed him, but Harry was smiling lightly, as though it didn't actually matter anymore, and that was helping.

  
"I learned the convictions I did through their eyes, and they weren't always…to the taste of others. There were times when I decided to hold onto those for all that I was worth, and it led to me hurting many people here. Maybe _every_ person here. For that, I apologize. I promise to keep making amends until you can actually believe I mean that apology.

"So I was an ass, because my father was an ass. I was an ass for a very long time. I wasted so much of my childhood sneering and hating and feeling superior. Then, I left school, and I made a decision. I was very tired. I didn't want to hold onto convictions that, up to that point, had brought me nothing but pain and fear and the loss of those I held dear. So I decided that that part of my life had ended. It just so happens that, a few years later, I re-met a Harry who needed to make that same decision. He was responsible for me questioning my parents. His independence, his drive, his loyalty. They had started teaching the right way before I even knew it, before I was ready. Back when we still couldn't stand the look of each other, when every conversation we had led to a fight. But when I met him again, I was already different. I saw his pain, and I understood it. I wanted to make it better, because he made it better for me, inadvertently. For whatever reason, against, I am sure, every warning in every bone of his body, let me in."

Draco paused and looked at Ron for the briefest of seconds. Just long enough to make sure Ron was listening. He needn't of worried. Everyone was staring at Draco like they had never heard the man speak before. Hermione's mouth was actually hanging open.

"He let me in, and we figured out that we were the same, underneath. The pain was a great coating, an excellent mask, but it wasn't who we really were. And for every moment where I let him see underneath my mask, he healed something that was deeper than that, and I tried to do the same. I have always known Harry Potter, the image, a character. That character is what I hated, who I envied. But that man, that one who stares back at me with shockingly green eyes, who is edible when wearing green, who is hilarious although he has no idea why. Who looks shocked when he causes me delight, who kisses me good morning every day, no matter what else is happening; that man? That is _my_ Harry. And I'm gonna stay stuck with him."

Draco looked back at Ron again. "Does that answer your question, Ron?"

No one spoke for a long moment. Harry was smiling, having not been shocked by anything Draco had said, since none of it was new to him.

Finally, Seamus seemed to be unable to keep silent anymore. No one was surprised since he had never before in his life been silent for any measurable length of time.

"Well," he said, placing his glass on the table. "I think maybe I'm over it, all. Welcome to the family, mate. You'll have to deal with this sorry Gryffindor lot for a good long while. Best of luck to you. God knows Daphne will be in shock."

"Daphne? As in Daphne Greengrass? From our year? The Slytherin Daphne?" Draco looked back and forth between Seamus, and Harry, who simply shrugged.

Seamus nodded, then grinned, looking at his hands, "My wife. You aren't the only one who changed after school. So, Weasley. Think you can stop making this man hit you? I mean really, we've all wanted to do the same, at one point or another. But Malfoy has always been a bit better at getting his point across. A Slytherin trait I've started to appreciate over the years."

"Right," Hermione had stood up and went to put on her coat. "Come on you lot, we are going round the pub. I need something other than wine, and I think if we let Harry sit there much longer, he will be asleep on the chair that has already turned back into a pail. No more of this ridiculousness. Draco, darling, walk us to nearest pub."

* * *

 

And that was that. Ron finished the apartment with Harry over the next six months. When they were finished, the place was unrecognizable. The extension on the back added an extra ten feet to the kitchen, which meant an actual dining area, a breakfast bar, and a great room, containing many pieces of expensive furniture that Draco had begrudgingly picked out, including a huge sectional.

The comfy chair had maintained its rightful spot, but window seats had been added at Draco's insistence, so that now the living room quite comfortably fit ten or more, without transfigured bucket chairs. Upstairs, the extra space meant an ensuite bathroom with an actual tub, and the garden Harry had surprised Draco with on the roof- complete with a year-round, glassed-in solarium- more than made up for the fact that Harry had refused to allow Draco to move the library into their bedroom. With it safely installed in the roof porch instead, Harry turned the extra bedroom space into a multi-purpose hobby space. His music stuff on one side, with a storage closet for extra crap (mostly Quidditch equipment, if Draco was to be believed), but with a work table and a shelf on the other for Draco's potion experiments. He had added some containment spells there just in case.

He refused to have a desk in the house as well. He didn't want either of them bringing work home. Downstairs, Draco had expanded his storeroom, so that they had actual working space in the shop. It was far less claustrophobic, although Harry still did not enjoy being there. Too many awful memories were brought back by cauldrons and dank smells of brewing potions.

Draco's contentment with the apartment was only occasionally spoken out loud. Instead, he showed his happiness through hosting functions and events again, bringing people around 'just for drinks', and even having his old boss and mentor's family over for dinner to show them the changes with the space.

The delighted Alfie was far more taken with Harry than with the actual space changes, and he kept clasping his hands and exclaiming, "you both just look so well."

Harry kept up the Refraction Theory project, though it took a back seat for some time while he simultaneously worked on the apartment, and waited for Neville to finish setting up his shop. And waited again when Neville came to him asking how to propose to Luna. There was no rush. His life had been directionless for so long that he was satisfied revelling in purpose and goals and meaningful happiness for a while. The mundane stopped feeling like it broke him down, and sometimes, while paying bills, he would look up to find Draco just staring at him, smiling that frigging little smile, and he would blush everywhere like he was sixteen. He had no idea how long this stupid-happy phase would last. It had only been a little under three years. Maybe one day, they would wake up and be sick of each other. Maybe one day, this would end. It didn't feel like it right now, but who knew. He wasn't going to dwell. Couldn't, really, if he was being honest. There was too much happiness.

When he finally did get back on track, he got the surveys underway and was shortly after approached by the Ministry for Magic Board for Muggle Affairs. He anticipated a fight, but discovered that they merely wanted him to consider using his theory as a way to defend a Master's degree. He tried arguing that he had not even completed school, never done his NEWTs, and technically never graduated. The small witch whom he met with waved her hand dismissively and muttered something about 'not needing to bother with particulars'.

Which is how he found himself standing in front of the Muggle Affairs board, defending a thesis he wasn't aware he had written, effectively answering questions and disputing rebuttals. And how he ends up with a theory named after him. And how he ends up in his living room, high on life (well, and not an insubstantial amount of prosecco. He seriously needs to stop being tempted by the expensive alcohol Draco keeps buying), surrounded by all the people he has come to know and love, celebrating an achievement he had never meant to make. It is such a tremendous turnaround from where he had been. It was tempting to give Draco all the credit, but he really owed his life to all the little cogs. Ron and Hermione for Romania, Eloise for making him try, Draco for making him care, and Neville for going along with his crazy plans.

He surveys the room and discovers that he is shocked by what faces him. He is surrounded by people he actually cares about. Past friends and new ones. Eloise is here, with the adorable young witch she has started seeing, who is giggly and nervous and utterly perfect for her. Luna and Neville, back from hunting Spattergroit in Peru, are laughing in the corner with Seamus and Daphne, who is eight months pregnant and terrifying.

Hermione and Sorina are having a very serious conversation with one of Draco's Birmingham friend, whose name he can't remember, and Anker and Hector are nodding along from a window seat, though he suspects they are not really following along. There is such a mishmash of people here, all calmly sitting and sharing in a celebration. For the first time in many years, he feels there may have been a point behind the Battle of Hogwarts. He is sitting in a room where no one is good and no one is evil, where house allegiances are thing of the past. Where Dark Marks do not highlight your painted history, and your blood status does not hold any weight. Maybe this is what they had all fought for. The right to choose your own people and keep them safe.

Perhaps the most stark reality of all was the comfy chair being occupied by Ron, with Draco perched on the edge of the arm rest, nodding emphatically at whatever Ron was saying. They had managed to get along better since the day of the infamous 'trial-by-Gryffindors', as Draco referred to it. They still got into small arguments quite often, and both were too stubborn to back down. But they had discovered many safe topics; the interchangeably dire and/or brilliant performance of the Cannons, the right of all people to refuse Ministry work, the inability of anyone to be a proper head of the Quidditch Association of Britain, and which city in Europe had the best salmon on eggs (a breakfast Harry still couldn't fully support). It was relatively miraculous when they teamed up to bring down Harry or Hermione, and they usually ended up winning because the other party was in pure shock that they were agreeing and working together.

Now, though, as Harry watched, Ron clapped Draco on the back, nodded once, and sat back, clearly waiting. Draco took a deep breath and stood up, holding his glass aloft. He cleared his throat, and waited. When this didn't work, Ron shouted a ridiculous, "Oy, you lot" into the midst of the room, causing people to abruptly look up. Harry laughed, until he realized that the only reason Draco had for stopping everyone was going to somehow involve him being the centre of attention.

"A toast, I think. To an unsuspecting scholar."

"To the great surprise of everyone!" Seamus shouted. Ron glared at him, and he snickered into his glass.

Draco smirked, and took a step towards Harry. "Hare, my love, I have somethings to add. I promise, this is the absolute last time I will make this kind of emotional and embarrassing speech in front of all your friends. We both know how much you hate it. But I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that this document you have as of today doesn't mean very much to me. It is quite wonderful, yes, but what I find more wonderful is this."  
  
Harry laughed lightly. Such a Draco statement.

"This room full of people who love you, who respect you. What is more wonderful is that I get to wake up every morning in this beautiful place, with you by my side. You defend me, and call me out on my shit. You help me be who I am, and you are gracious without being aware how rare that is. I shake myself sometime because I don't know how I got this lucky, or why I didn't notice you sooner. But I think we found each other at exactly the right moment. And as I stand here, surrounded by these people who we are lucky enough to call friends, I believe that I should explain what I have been thinking about lately. I have this tendency to not explain my thoughts. And I think perhaps that may be a bit unfair in this case."

He paused here, and Harry wasn't sure if he was gathering himself or waiting, so he nodded questioningly and waited in return.

"I said a while ago that I was perfectly happy being stuck with you. That is not even close to what I actually meant. What I meant is that, from now until forever, I want to be your safe haven. I want to wake up next to you, stupidly happy, every morning for the rest of my life. I want to never have to wonder if you are coming home. I want to go to Romania with you every year and remember that first trip…and the second trip." Draco smirked.

"Harry. Harry James Potter, you are both infamous and famous, but I know you better than that. I know your beauty and your fears, I know your secrets and your pain. I want to keep you safe, and love you. That is all. So, you silly git. Would you want to…do you think you'd marry me?"

Harry sat on the stool he had been sitting on for ten minutes, and went through the catalogue in his brain that contained the information he had from his childhood. The thoughts, passing though they may be, that everyone has when they are a child imagining their future. He can't remember if he ever thought 'I want to get married.' or 'I want to have children', or even 'I want to live in a big city'. Which means that he can't be prepared for this moment. This moment where a _man,_ a man that he loves, no doubt, but still a man, has quite clearly proposed. He never thought about being proposed to, and he didn't know if he had ever thought about being _married_ to Draco.

Although, he wasn't sure why. It was the best idea ever. They would have a real tie, a reason for people to respect them, to not question if their relationship was real. They would never be able to just tire of each other and leave. Sure, it may still happen, and they would have to allow that, but it would not be a simple case of moving on. It would be difficult. It would be a bigger deal. And that made Harry feel safe in a way he had never once felt safe before. He had always been told he was trash, that he could be tossed aside, removed, destroyed. Draco was standing here telling him he would keep him. Forever.

"You know what, Draco Malfoy. I think I will."

There may have been cheering, and catcalls, and embarrassment lingering in the corners of his thoughts, but all Harry saw was Draco come towards him, place his hands on either side of his face, and touch his forehead to his own. Whisper, "I love you."

In that moment, and the many moments to come, Harry would come to realize there had only been one theory left to prove; the dragons may be large and scary and mean. They may avoid being seen and try to keep their behaviour and decisions a secret. But at the same time, they were never actually alone.

He made the decision not to be either.

* * *

_"Congratulations, Harry!' she said beaming at him. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How do you feel now about the fairness of the scoring?"_

_"Yeah, you can have a word," said Harry savagely. "Goodbye!"_

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

\- finite incantatem -


End file.
